Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow
by Era Yachi
Summary: A billionaire kidnaps the Twins and demands the U.S. government to go public with the truth in exchange for their return. Galloway spins the wheel of the blame game instead. Meanwhile, Ironhide is up to his optics with problems of his own.
1. Big, Big Plans

_**Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow**_

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**_

**Summary**: A famous billionare kidnaps the Twins and demands for the U.S. government to go public with the truth in exchange for their safe return. Galloway spins the wheel of the blame game instead.. And Ironhide is up to his optics with his own problems.

**Author's Note: **I love the Transformers movies. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed it until I wrote that massive Stargate/Transformers crossover that I did. It's complete; go on, read it. You know you wanna. I elected to not write a sequel, because I can't write two back-to-back, crazy-ass plots with life-sucking aliens, back-stabbing robots and too many hyphenated words to boot.

Where was I?

This fanfiction is largely based around the characters Skids, Mudflap and Ironhide. Optimus, Bumblebee, Lennox, Ratchet...they're all in here, but I'd label them as 'recurring'. The most important thing to remember is this: this is a novella, not fan service. I like plot! Too much. And this is the longest Author's Note you'll have to read.

Action starts next chapter. Promise. Now stop pestering me.

* * *

_Chapter One: Big, Big Plans_

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* * *

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**

Scientific progress was a joke.

Lennox threw the remote down on the table with such force that the antenna snapped off, and knocked over a slouching pile of papers to boot. The metallic click of the device breaking did not disturb the other occupant of the warehouse: Optimus. They were waiting for Ironhide to return so they could get this ridiculously short briefing over with. Now Lennox's stereo was broken, which made him feel twice as tired than he usually did.

The world was on the verge of public uproar. Thanks to the Decepticons, every country on the planet was on the outlook for 'giant, declassified military robots', some believing they were the U.S. government's new line of war toys, others convinced they were a hoax created either by an underground terrorist organization, or the United States of America herself in order to scare her citizens into paying their taxes.

Only a small sliver of the public eye pie was reserved for those who _believed_ there were real aliens threatening planet Earth. The fact that the Fallen and his parade of minions hadn't followed through on their threat of global destruction aided immensely in convincing even the most skeptical that there were no robotic aliens trying to destroy humanity. On one hand, the United States had a field day with the UN, officially becoming number one of everybody's 'jerk' list. On the other, they had averted a collapse of the world economy as a whole, preventing hundreds of millions from stifling themselves in their basements with shotguns and CB radios.

For all the 'convincing' that went on the past three months, Lennox just wished he could start believing it himself. But the fact of the matter was, the world _was_ in danger of becoming a war zone between two factions of a mechanical species from outer space. The only way to stop this from happening was to either kill or chase off the cloud of Decepticons swarming over their heads. And to do this, they needed the Autobots' help.

He couldn't ask Optimus for more than he was already giving. Today's events, however they went from here, was just the first step on a straw ladder that lead to rebuilding NEST and its group morale.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, the large black pick-up truck finally rolled into the warehouse, followed closely by two cars: one green and the other red. It was just breaking dawn, a good sign that Lennox had been awake for just about all night without so much as a cup of coffee. He watched the Autobots gather with half-lidded eyes, trying not to look as beaten as he felt. NEST commanders didn't get tired. Optimus didn't get tired; not that he knew how often the big guy had to recharge. Quite frankly, the major didn't spend enough off-duty time with his co-commander of the NEST alliance to know such petty details.

As the trio transformed into their natural forms, Lennox glanced over at Optimus Prime. He stood next to the towering Autobot's foot, a position he was getting way too accustomed to since he began working with the autonomous robots two years and some months ago. The fear of getting stepped on never _completely_ went away.

"Thank you for finding them, Ironhide," said the leader of the Autobots, speaking to his weapons' specialist. The black Autobot twisted his head around to look at the twins, whom Optimus had been referring to.

"It was easy," Ironhide grunted, flexing his arm out of its stiffness. He had a lot of time terrestrial disguise today. A very long time. "They make enough noise to alert Decepticons of their presence from hundreds of miles away."

"That hurts, man; we was just doin' what 'Swipe told us," Mudflap protested. The smaller red Autobot dodged a fist from his brother. "Tha's honest!"

"Twins," Optimus said, and that was all he needed to say. They stopped quarreling. "Ironhide, I have just informed Major Lennox and the rest of his team that we are ready to go ahead with the training exercise. Are the three of you prepared to leave for the mainland?"

"Optimus, why's you makin' Ironhide go with us? We ain't scared of no pretend Decepticon rim-lickas," Skids complained, looking genuinely disgruntled.

"Yeah," the other twin chimed in. "He's jes' grumpy all the tahm. Tha's bad for our morale, ain't it?"

"The purpose of this exercise is to coordinate your efforts with other Autobots during anti-Decepticon operations," Optimus explained—for the third time, Lennox noted. If he was anything, the leader of all Autobots was patient. Lennox had a feeling he might also have a soft spot for 'young' Autobots like the Twins, despite the fact that in terms of Earth years, the wily pair of brothers had already outlived the major's grandparents. "You proved to be capable of defending our human allies during the unexpected confrontation with Devastator; however, the Shanghai operation is another thing."

That mollified the loud-speaking duo. With a few, barely audible complaints, they transformed into their vehicle modes and rolled away, having taken the silent cue for dismissal from their commanding officer. Once they were gone, Ironhide huffed.

"It will be a warm day on Cybertron when those two are fit for a _real_ battle with the Decepticons," he pointed out. "My systems are ready to handle whatever the human military can throw at us. Do me a favor and tell your commanders to hold nothing back," he added, addressing Lennox for the last part. "Shall I herd the young miscreants onto the transport aircraft as well, Prime?"

"Just make sure they remember the guidelines for the exercise," said the commander of the Autobots. He nodded, also dismissing his weapons' specialist. As the engines of the carrier outside whined to life in the background, Optimus took a step back to look down at Major Lennox.

"The Decepticons are increasing in numbers far quicker than I ever imagined," he admitted, whilst a stream of heavily armed trucks and cargo vans packed with ammunition pulled away and began to line up for loading on the Autobot's transport. "It is possible they outnumber us by a ratio greater than three to one. Even with training, many of the Autobots who have reached Earth are not ready for this war."

"Hey, _we're_ not ready for this war, and there's six billion of us on this planet," Lennox reassured him. "Whatever you lack in numbers right now, we'll fix that. Remember, this exercise is just as much for my people as it is yours—we lost a lot of veterans during the Egypt incident."

It was a sad truth; many current members of NEST, low or high ranking, were new to the fold. With the Decepticons on the rise and the Fallen's broadcast to the public three months prior, distrust was spreading like a disease. And the United States government happened to have a serious case of said illness.

But no one had to say it out loud. If there was a cure, it wasn't going to bring Lennox' stereo back to life or get him home to his wife and daughter any sooner. He bit his mental lip, tongue, cheek and every other metaphor for patience that came to mind, and went to prepare his men for a long day of training.

* * *

-

Dr. Madrick switched off his iPod as a jeep rushed past him. Soldiers weren't allowed personal devices like this while on active duty in Diego Garcia. He was a scientist, however, and a liaison to the Autobots; the interspecial technology specialist, to be exact. It was his sworn duty to report between the aliens and the United States military, sometimes contacting the Secretary of Defense himself to advise him on something their allies had decided the night before. Being the peacekeeper of shared resources wasn't easy, especially since one party he was responsible for scared him half to death every time he arranged a meeting.

Optimus Prime was discussing something private in nature with Ironhide, leaving the two most senior Autobots out of his reach. He knew he was being impromptu, a particular human trait that their robotic friends didn't appreciate, but what could a PhD in strategic technology do when the fragile ego of the bureaucrats were at stake? He had to speak to them before his plane left for D.C.

The airman standing guard outside the Autobot residence directed him with a silent nod to Ratchet's location. It was his job to know where each Autobot was at all times, a fact little known by the majority of NEST personnel. Madrick knew it, because he was one of the few non-military personnel given full access to their allies around the clock, and without supervision. Come to think about it, he had about as much freedom around the base as the Autobots had, and that was plenty to consider.

"Ah, there you are," he proclaimed, spotting the Transformers' medical officer not far inside the clinic, an area set aside for the robots' numerous repair sessions. Ratchet was almost always on duty, and presently he happened to be assisting Sideswipe by extracting a large piece of shrapnel from his shoulder joint. Somehow the scrap metal and Sideswipe had become entwined on the battlefield, leaving him unable to transform. If Madrick recalled, this would be the third day in a row Ratchet had been working on this particular procedure.

Even though he was busy, Ratchet greeted the familiar human with a nod. Dr. Madrick's comings and going were not uncommon anymore; in fact, he seemed to present much more interest in Autobot medical ongoings than his predescesor, which was a welcome change from cold indifference. "Dr. Madrick, is there something I can do for you?"

"Just official business, unfortunately, though I could come back when you're not busy," the scientist replied. They both knew that would never happen, because 'busy' was a relative state of being for the old mech.

"Now is as good a time as any," replied the Autobot. "Sideswipe, if you flinch again like that, I will end up severing an oil conduit."

"That wasn't a flinch; my back was tingly," defended the other mech, rolling his free shoulder in circles. "C'mon, Ratchet. It's small enough now, so I don't understand why I'm still here."

"Because between explaining to Optimus why I listened to your reckless advice and doing a proper job, I would choose the latter. Every time," said Ratchet. He carved off another delicate piece of the metal wedge and extracted it with expert precision. "I believe Dr. Madrick is waiting for an opportunity to speak his mind. Go ahead, doctor."

Madrick had taken a seat on one of the folding chairs that were stacked against the wall. "I had a thought the other day, and I want your input before I bring it to Optimus' attention. Humans and Autobots have been working side-by-side on the front line to fight the Decepticons for two and a half years now, and I don't understand why we don't have a system set up to monitor your conditions during battle."

Ratchet made a pause before turning his cutting laser back on the operation at hand, making a grunt-like sound that was incredibly neutral. "We are able to monitor our own systems on the battlefield, Dr. Madrick. Our sensory capabilities make it possible to keep track of our human allies' biological status during combat as well. I don't see why it would be necessary."

"But then, most of the time, our military directors have no idea which Autobot needs reinforcements in the heat of battle. Hypothetically, let's say Ironhide had been cut off from the rest of the Autobots and is in critical condition. A little intervention on our part could potentially save his life, and knowing the full extent of his injuries could be instrumental in rending that kind of assistance."

"I will admit, I see your point," the medical officer agreed. He dropped another sliver of the intruding debris into the bin he had been using to deposit the waste. "If we are being completely open about the issue, Dr. Madrick, then I caution you about taking such a suggestion lightly. Tagging us with some kind of electronic advice in order to better understand our physiology is not a good way to polish this alliance. On a more personal note, thank you for your concern."

Of course, Madrick _did_ care, but having his idea shot down after he had only just proposed it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Oh, well. "I see," he said. "I'll get out of your way, then. I don't suppose you know anything about the training exercise happening later this afternoon?"

"Only that one of us will have to endure it, and I plan on being preoccupied when Optimus asks for volunteers," Sideswipe replied for the medic, and flinched again. "That was your fault," he told Ratchet defensively.

"Well, good luck with the procedure," said Madrick. He stood up and left the residence, feeling as though he were getting nowhere at all. Now he had an issue to pull through with Ironhide. It was no wonder his predecessor had quit after three weeks of this job.

* * *

-

James Cheilwender, Chief Executive Officer of UnityTech, sat with his perfectly manicured hands creased together under his chin as his pale umber eyes scanned the face of his eighteen thousand dollar laptop. The old grandfather clock against the wall of his office ticked away, giving a sense of rhythm to the silent video playing on the screen before him. Once the staticky recording froze at the end of its session, Cheilwender sat back in his chair, the leather groaning slightly under his weight. His eyes flickered towards his personal aide, Mr. Warrington, who on the opposite side of his mahogany desk. "Where did you find this?"

"That MIT graduate we just added to the payroll, Sandry, hacked the waterway surveillance system and found traces of data left over after the CIA deleted the evidence. He managed to piece this together with the fragments of visual imagery, though we lost audio."

After a lengthy moment, the older corporate owner cleared his throat and asked, "What is that they're using to subdue it?"

"As far as we can tell, carbon dioxide, otherwise known as 'dry ice'. They're freezing the alien's circuitry to impede its movement and keep it from retaliating."

Cheilwender shut the laptop, locking it with a soft click. "And you still have no idea where they took it, even after two and a half years of cold, hard research?"

"Based on what we know now, sir, that information is irrelevant. The government is obviously working in tandem with these alien organisms off the coast of India in Diego Garcia; our satellites confirmed that last month. You've seen the pictures."

"Yes, I have seen the pictures," the CEO growled softly. "Ten points down in just three weeks in our latest development stocks. In the time it takes me to pick my nose, I lose half a million dollars. I pay you twice as much money each month than I make in twelve hours, and you're not even the highest-paid member of my personal staff. Do you know how strongly that affects our annual budget?"

"Yes I do, sir. That's why I proposed we move ahead with the contingency plan today."

"Bull crap. If we jump into something this serious without our bathing suits on, we'll get laughed at and _then_ arrested buck naked." Not a strong performer of analogies, Cheilwender went on to make his point. Indecisively, he leaned further back into his seat and deliberated. "You said it was best to wait until we could confront one of these things alone. And you're sure that will happen today?"

"Our inside resources indicate that three of the aliens will be isolated during a classified, top secret mission on the southern tip of India. Two of them we perceive are untrained non-combatants and we have devised a distraction for the third."

"Phil, 'classified' and 'top secret' mean the same thing. And then what?"

"We will have men standing by to instigate the procedure should the opportunity arise. If we fail for some reason, we still have that ace up our sleeve."

Cheilwender grunted unhappily. "You mean releasing all this sensitive information to the media, hoping for a stock market miracle. These are aliens, Phil, not politicians. I still don't believe letting the general population know that their government is hiding the existence of extraterrestrials will have the same impact as uncovering a sex scandal in the White House. Am I also the only one worried about how illegal this is?"

"Actually, the only law we would be breaking is obstruction of an ongoing military operation. One that can't be proved in court without they themselves admitting their affiliation with extraterrestrials."

"Or they could just fabricate the details of whatever classified mission they think we're messing with," Cheilwender argued, sitting forward again. His chair squeaked; he would have to remind Donna to get it fixed before he met with one of his shareholders. "I don't want you to take this lightly, Phil. UnityTech needs a buffer to keep the Federal agenecies from dropping a helicopter filled with S.W.A.T. people on my roof; I'm their prime target the minute they find out we're involved."

"They won't, Mr. Cheilwender. That you have my word on."

The CEO of UnityTech reached into the left drawer on his desk and opened a case of Aristoff cigars. After clipping it, putting it between his teeth and lighting the end with a 1908 cigar lighter he won in an auction last June, he let out a long trail of smoke and expressed his innermost thoughts. "Your word is not going to keep me out of jail, Phil. If we can't endorse something new in today's market, the shareholders will keep dropping like flies. All it takes is one unhappy employee and a photograph, and my reputation's gone. Ffft," he said, making a fluttering motion with his free hand. "Just like that. If this goes wrong, for any reason, it's not going to be my face on the front page of tomorrow's newspaper."

"No, sir. That would be my face."

"Good; so we have an understanding. I want regular updates on the status of this operation you've got planned. I don't care if I'm in the middle of a meeting with the Prince of Wales; you tell me what I need to know."

"I'll do that, Mr. Cheilwender. Your jet will arive in about forty-five minutes, sir. Also, your wife wanted to know if you'll be joining the dinner with Charles MacIntosh tonight."

"Absolutley not." Cheilwender stood up, straightening his tie as another puff of smoke slipped out of his mouth. "I've got plans for tonight, remember? Big, big plans."

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TBC


	2. Games

_**Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow**_

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AN: Since I feel it's important to let you know this, here is a list of things I care about: cotton candy, fireworks and the colour orange. Fried shrimp is optional. Your Jedi mind tricks won't work on me.

That is all.

* * *

_Chapter Two: Games_

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It was hot and humid, the heavily vegetated area dense with moisture and strange animal calls. It appeared to be barren of intelligent life, but Ironhide knew better. For all intent and purpose, nobody had explained to him what to expect in this training course. Optimus had stationed Arcee and her sisters as well as Jolt somewhere in the designated mission area, the 'Decepticons' they were expected to hunt down or avoid, whatever the situation may come. Given the uneven terrain, they could be lying in ambush around any corner.

The Twins were playing 'I Spy'.

Trivial little human game, a time waster where one party must guess the object the other party was 'spying' based on a vague description. It was a game, and this was training. At first, Ironhide muted out their endless babbling, half of him hoping that their constant noisemaking would attract either one of the human teams of 'enemies' or one of his fellow officers so he could teach them a lesson the hard way. But within one half of an hour, their trek through the forest remained undisturbed.

"Don' choo call me a cheater, you said it was green, an' I'm right. It's my turn nah," Skids berrated his brother. "I spy with mah little eye, somethin' tha's big an' black an' mean—"

A twig snapped. Some of the rubbery leaves of a nearby plant rustled. Ironhide froze, which he did remarkably. He shot a silent signal to the Twins and order them to shut up, which they did when they sensed his urgency. Ironhide knew this ploy well—there were humans nearby, Lennox's team most likely, and they were trying to draw his attention one way while attacking from another direction. Their rendezvous team was half a mile away, so their first task was to thwart a surprise attack. Ironhide loved surprises.

"Fall back," he ordered lowly, preparing his cannons. They were completely powered down, armed with the weakest electrical pulse he could muster. One discharge could knock a human soldier down, but not incapacitate him for long. "Defensive perimeter, three-sided cannon lock, now."

The bumbling idiots did half of what he intended, turning their backs on him and each facing a separate direction. Unfortunately, they did not arm their weapons in time, when out from the wall of greenery came a spray of small, globual balls filled with pigment. They splattered across Muflap's left side. The red Autobot's exclamation was drowned out by Skids' yelp of surprise as a metal wire suddenly snagged around his left foot and sling-shot into the air. He bounced off of the broad trunks of some trees nearby, arms flailing as he fired a volley of stun rounds wildly into the foliage below.

In eight seconds, they were completely surrounded by a group of nine human combatants, members of Lennox's NEST soldiers, dressed in camoflauge attire with black and brown paint smeared on their skin. They had their weapons, which included two simulated rocket launchers. Ironhide buried his face in a large, metal hand and groane. His cannons eased down with a slow whine as he respected the rules and surrendered. Realistically, he could have slaughtered every last one of them all by himself, but that was beside the point of the training.

"Your reaction time is great, Ironhide," said one of the soldiers, a man far younger than Major Lennox by the rank of Second Lieutenant remarked, lowered his simulated P90. "Theirs wasn't. We've been following you for two clicks on sound alone. Bradley, you can cut him down now."

Shortly after, Skids gave a short scream as he plummeted head-first towards the ground. He bounced and landed on his back, limbs splayed. "Ow, man! What was tha' for?"

"Don't sweat it, green," said the Lieutenant, tramping through the thick brush while his squad fell in behind. "Compared to what you've got ahead of you, we were being polite. And it took us three hours to set up this up. I'm not supposed to say this, but next time you 'I Spy', spy it near the waterfall. Epps's waterfall. Good luck, ladies. We're going to find a good spot to sit down and watch."

"Outmaneuvered by less than ten humans before the training even begins," lamented Ironhide, pistons hissing as he turned around and glanced at the crawling sun. "This is going to be a _very _long day."

---

Twelve minutes after their first encounter with their 'enemies', Ironhide began to think about turning back and giving Optimus his resignation. Jokingly, of course, because there had never been such a thing as a rogue Autobot in the long history he could remember. For his own sanity, he made sure he stayed at least thirty meters ahead of the Twins to dilute their constant noise and sweep for potential entrapments or ambush sites.

"Ow, hey! Ironhide, we got bad guys shootin' down at us!" Mudflap's outcry startled him long enough to swing around and throw up his defenses. He could see the red one's form through a veil of underbrush and threw himself forward, charging his weapons.

Mudflap reeled backwards as Ironhide burst into the small clearing, and while the larger Autobot focused on the thickly forested areas all around them, the twin began to cackle for no apparent reason. The weapons' specialist could have frowned had he been able to, as three seconds later Skids came crashing down on top of him. He spun around, spitefully grabbing at the Autobot on his back and trying to mute out the twin's aggravating rodeo calls and childish kicking. Eventually, the green one was on the ground with some fresh dents and scratches and their 'mentor' was trying his hardest (which wasn't too hard) to not unleash the full force of his weaponry on their ungrateful metal cans.

"Aw, Ironhide, we're jes' playin aroun'," Skids quipped from the ground. He rolled back onto his feet and bumped fists with his brother. "You don' need to start cryin' now. We won' tell anyone you's such a sissy robot."

"I hope Prime finds some suitable task for the two of you when this is over," Ironhide growled, weapons snapping back into their original, five-digit forms. "Scrubbing the Energon canisters, for example. I am through with this pitiful exercise."

Leaving the duo's mocking blubbering sounds and juvenile laughter behind, he stomped back into the forest and never looked back. When he reached the first rendezvous point, he would have a message delivered to Optimus explaining several key values that these two new 'recruits' simply didn't have. He made things blow up, he crushed the spark chambers of Decepticons and supplied crucial tactical advice when it was needed—babysitting these two was a task that did not even count as a sub-category in his officer's description.

Ironhide entered the wide, open space where the land met a shallow river. He could still hear the twins behind him, being as loud as they had ever been. Not wasting the time to turn around and reprimand them, he waded into the river and splashed his way across, reaching the opposite bank far before his charges even reached the clearing. The black Autobot began clearing a path in the trees with his bare hands, innermost thoughts broiling around and around inside his processors.

After several minutes of relentless trekking, he heard the Twins begin to call out his name and cuss loudly from the riverside he had only just left. Ironhide snorted to himself and continued forward, crushing small trees and ripping through the vegetation as he purposely disregarded clearly insincere cry for help. If they insisted on playing pranks instead of doing any real work, then Optimus could banish them to Earth's moon for all he cared. He was tired of this senseless charade.

Thirty-eight seconds passed, and the Twins' noise grew fainter. The black Autobot reluctantly slowed to a halt, twisting his head left and right as he contemplated turning back. It was eerily quiet. Noise he understood, but the twin miscreants not uttering a sound? As much as they bragged about being 'ninja', which as Ironhide understood was the utter _opposite_ of their true nature, they could not exist for a nanosecond without squeaking, clanking, cackling or otherwise. He threw an impulsive scan in the direction he came, and not a single energy signature bounced back.

A helicopter racketed by overhead.

Alarmed, Ironhide launched himself after it. This was _not_ be an aircraft belonged to the NEST team, because they were not allowed in the training exercise. Filled with a sudden and overwhelming surge of outrage as he realized what was happening, the weapons' specialist tore through the vegetation like a tornado released from a bottle. Saplings and vines collapsed before him, dirt and mud was gouged from the ground, small animals went scattering as he retraced his route back to the flat, open riverbed.

A small grouping of unfamiliar humans were standing in a semi-circle around the Twins. Mudflap was down face-first in the shallow water at the opposite bank, and two of the militants were placing small, round devices on him that seemed to be the cause of his incapacitation. Skids was reeling back and forth, trying to shake one of the devices off his hand.

_Swack!_

Another one of the devices launched from a hand-held gun carried by a human. It struck the green twin on his front plating, crackling with a strange, paralyzing energy, and down he went with a splash into the river's muddy edge. Ironhide was already charging up his cannons, not caring if he charged them too high—he would drink molten slag before these humans got away with this!

It was too late to signal NEST for assistance. The militants' helicopter was already moving into the middle of the clearing, lowering a cable to the position where they had ambushed the twin Autobots. Ironhide began to slosh through the ankle-deep water, unleashing a volley of explosive rounds in the aircraft's direction.

The chopper's fuel tank erupted on the first shot, and the craft went spinning wildly to one side. Several of the humans on the ground dove into the river to avoid being struck by the vessel as it crashed into the solid ground, a wall of flame and metal.

It was then that they turned their attention on him.

Ironhide knew he could not simply open fire and take them all out. Mindlessly slaughtering them all without finding out their intent could lead to impossibly complicated matters in the future. They were turning their weapons on him, however, and that would just not do. A hail of bullets crossed the open water and ricocheted off of Ironhide's armor; they stung a little, but they were not enough to stop him. Just as he lowered the cannon on his left arm, ready to send a concussive pulse over their heads, the chopping _whir_ of another helicopter distracted his optics to the tops of the nearby trees.

He raised his cannon to shoot the vessel down as its shape appeared against the clouds, but something tugged at his foot from within the river. Ironhide took a fateful step backwards, just as the snare was launched into the air. Metallic teeth clamping around the Autobot's foot, the complex trap burst through the surface of the water, attached to a heavy chain. Ironhide flipped onto his back, discharging his weapon into the forest canopy.

One of the humans yelled something over the roar of the helicopter's engine, and Ironhide witnessed a third such vessel hover into view directly overhead. He started to rise to his feet, battle sense utterly engaged and his servos firing at an alarming rate. Something very heavy and _clingy_ plummeted from the sky and knocked him back down; it was a net made of wire mesh, and it stuck to him like an Energon leech. He just barely managed to turn himself over and raise his head in time to see two of the militants clamping something down on the tethers that they had attached to Mudflap. Then the red Twin began to rise into the air, snagged securely to the second helicopter's towing cable.

"I will destroy you all!" Ironhide roared, in no small part due to his embarrassment over being immobilized so easily. He lurched against the net, but he moved too slowly with the mesh caught between his plates.

Whether it was Ironhide's voice or just coincidence, Skids seemed to snap out of his device-induced coma and his arm whipped out to snag his twin's foot before the helicopter could carry him off. He too began to climb into the air, clutching to Mudflap in defiance of being separated from his brother if anything else.

Suddenly, the treeline behind the remaining militants exploded, and Arcee burst into the open. Her sisters launched out of the foliage on either side of the ambush site, Chromia bearing down on one of the fleeing humans and snatching him clear off his feet. Flareup turned her pulse weapons skywards and fired at the fading helicopter, but to no avail. Both of the captors' flight vessels were far out of range already, taking the Twins with them.

Ironhide slowly sunk back down into the water, feeling the coldness of the river steaming against his circuits as they overheated with a deep, burning sense of anger. They had seen the last of the Twins for certain; if not the Decepticons' doing, this was at least the humans' idea of a war game.

And Ironhide knew far too much about war games.

* * *

-

TBC


	3. People

**_Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow_**

---

AN: Fact: Lord Chumley is a jerk and so is his creepy sidekick. Fact: Fried shrimp is no longer an option, but a necessity. Fact: This author appreciates donations of orange-coloured cotton candy.

Oh, politics, thou minor demon of circular wrath!

* * *

_Chapter Three: People_

_

* * *

  
_

Cheilwender couldn't believe it.

"Phil, those are cars," he told his assistant. They were in the warehouse he had specifically bought in Arizona so he could maintain the secrecy of his captives. And the term 'captives' was a loose thread.

"They're cars right now, sir," said Phil, standing next to him behind the bulletproof glass barrier that divided _their_ side from the _safe_ side. "That's how they disguise themselves. We've been trying to figure out how to make them change back, but no success so far."

"Trying how?" asked the CEO of UnityTech, slowly strolling around the curved barrier of glass with his hands clasped behind his back. "If they...'transform' into other things, they must have some sort of control mechanism or instigator switch. These are machines, after all. The first thing I like to do when someone hands me a new toy is push all the buttons."

"With...all due respect, Mr. Cheilwender, things of this magnitude need a bit more finesse. We thought about communicating with them, but they've been unresponsive."

"Of _course_ they're unresponsive, you idiot; they're aliens in league with the American government," snapped the older man, a little more forcefully than was expected. "What am I supposed to do, call the Secretary of Defense and tell him I stole his cars? I paid millions to get these things _here_, Phil. I want to see aliens, not Christmas decorations. Make them transform, or you can transform yourself into an unemployed man."

On the other side of the thick glass wall, the bright green and red Chevrolet cars sat side-by-side while the four engineers in Hazmat suits circled around them. With their combined PhDs and advanced careers in mechanical training, even they had yet to figure out how to crack the robots' tough exterior. As soon as the aliens had reverted to their disguises, their doors were locked tight, hoods clamped shut. Everything short of breaking their windows had been tried to examine their physiology.

Phil watched Mr. Cheilwender turn his back to doorway attached to the complex that surrounded the warehouse. He then leaned forward and pressed a palm on the yellow switch to open the channel into the holding area. "Proceed with the second phase," he said, his throat becoming dry. "Orders from Mr. Cheilwender himself."

The blank faces of the engineers were made even more indifferent by the sheen of the plastic covering that served as their helmets. As though controlled by a hive mind, they turned as one to the machine they had wheeled into the room and picked up the assortment of electrodes off of the silvery trays. Four of the clamps were fastened to the red automobile's front bumper and rear view mirrors. One of them gave a signal, and another flipped a switch.

A burst of white-hot electricity shot from one side of the car to the other; two things happened as a result, the first being the machine they were using erupting in a miniature explosion of smoke. With an audible yelp, the surface of the red 'alien' rippled as thousands of moving parts reacted to the jolt. A few seconds later, the car unfolded into a pile of spinning parts and buckling mechanical limbs. Its counterpart followed suit, as though prompted by its partner's plight. Not long after, two eight-and-a-half-foot tall aliens stood in the center of the chamber with their weapons primed.

"By God," Cheilwender gasped. "They're aliens."

The blatant remark went unchallenged. The engineers inside the chamber had backed away and were all but cowering against the glass windows as the duo of robots circled left and right, pointing their guns at anything moved.

To Phil, it didn't take a genius to see that the aliens were just as frightened as their captors. Without thinking, he pressed down on the yellow switch again and said into the microphone, "I would advise against that. We don't plan on fighting you so long as you cooperate with us, so just disarm yourselves and nobody will get hurt."

"We ain't listenin' to yo' crazy bitches in dis' hospital, man," said the green one, pointing a loudly whirring arm in their direction. "Optimus said we can't say nothin' to ugly meatbags like you!"

"Yeah, so you can kiss our cold metal afts!" chimed in the red one. His upper torso twitched a little with a spurt of electricity.

"Phil, say something," hissed Cheilwender, looking like a six-year-old watching a fireworks display for the first time ever. He would have stepped closer to the glass, but one of his bodyguards politely placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.

That was all but Phil's intention, though he had little choice. He pressed the switch. "You're talking to us now, aren't you?"

A pregnant pause fell over the warehouse as the nearly identical robots glanced at each other, then looked back at the group of humans on the other side of the glass. Phil had the impression that reasoning with them using plain old logic was not going to work. "I got an idea," said the green one, waving the dangerous-looking weapon grafted on his arm back and forth. "Why don't ya'll give us one good reason we won't knock ya'll down fo' tryin' to chisel us?"

Helplessly, the CEO's assistant looked to Mr. Cheilwender, who grunted back. "Don't look at me. You're the one who wanted to _talk_ to them."

"No one is chiseling anyone," Phil tried to assure them, hoping that he was giving the right answer. "We can negotiate without resorting to violence. We can talk."

Suddenly, Cheilwender shoved him aside roughly and punched the yellow button. "If I say one word, I can fill this entire chamber with hydrogen sulfide. Cooperate with us or you'll find out what it's like to slowly burn to death in a fourteen hundred degree inferno."

Both aliens seemed to be slightly bewildered by this, and though it was crass and irrational in Phil's viewpoint, it got them to lower their arms and manipulate their mechanical limbs into normal-looking hands and fingers. The red one jabbed one of those fingers at the glass. "Why'd you go an' snatch us rookies? We ain't doin' yo' laundry if tha's what y'all be thinkin'."

Cheilwender punched the button again before Phil could think to stop him and said, "We'll be asking the questions, E.T. Starting with how many of your kind are currently working for the U.S. government and for how long."

"Uhhh..." Green looked at Red and blinked. "We don't think Optimus'd like it if we spilled up all 'dose secrets an' stuff. Next question."

The aging CEO furled his brow and leaned forward again, pressing gently this time. "Who is Optimus?"

"Yo mama," retaliated Green, and the both of them sniggered and slapped metal palms together.

Phil slowly slid his finger off of the 'talk' button, deciding against a retort, and looked at his employer meekly. "Maybe we should take a break."

"I'll go call a translator," snapped Cheilwender with a distinct edge of hostility. He left the holding center through the door, closely tailed by his two bodyguards. Watching them go, Phil turned his head to view the two robots milling about the long-since vacated concrete glass prison and sighed. This interrogation was _not_ going the way he imagined it.

---

Lennox rubbed the towel over his face, taking off most of the greasy paint and oil before tossing it on the floor behind him. Epps and Sergeant Prentice were walking briskly at his side as they joined Optimus and Ironhide in the Autobot residence.

Diego Garcia was quieter after the training excursion returned. The entire exercise had been canceled after the main event, of course. If the lack of squabbling twins had nothing to do with the eerie silence across the massive complex of buildings, it was the uncertainty that flooded the very atmosphere. Not nearly as quiet as it had been when Optimus was been delivered back to base back on tethers, but a plague of restlessness was still a plague.

Once news about the kidnapping spread, the human members of NEST were visibly edgier while standing next to their robotic allies. Most of them had been taking part in the exercise, which made each and every one of them a viable explanation as to how the mercenaries had executed their plan so flawlessly; in other words, one or more of them could be informants. Renegades. No one was eager to get on the Autobots' bad side in case the cloud of blame came their way.

"Our strike teams just finished scouring the area," Lennox announced without breaking stride, ignoring the sticky, humid air of the poorly ventilated hangar. "By the time we launched our F-15 fighters from the local station, they'd disappeared off the radar. I'm sorry, Optimus, but it doesn't look like we have any leads on where they took the twins."

"I understand," said Optimus turning away from his weapons' specialist officer to look down at the approaching humans. "It is customary for such kidnappings to be followed by a ransom demand. I take it there has been none so far, Major?"

The NEST commander grimaced involuntarily and put his hands on his waist, before glancing down at the ground. "Honestly, big guy...we're not expecting one. If these guys wanted money, they could have stolen some other classified military weapon in Albuquerque for all we know...this is personal. It's about you guys."

"We're just lucky one of your girls managed to grab one of those bastards. He works for a merc organization who works for another big-time crime lord in Southern India. We'd sooner find the damn Holy Grail before we find out who's behind this," Epps added, shaking his head. The idea that foreign mercenaries could kidnap two three ton robots from the center of a United States military training operation clearly irritated him.

"If I had not been so worried about _human_ casualties, it would have been easy to prevent this from happening," Ironhide remarked darkly, clenching a metal fist. "It was a bad idea taking those delinquents into a real training regime."

"What is done is done," said Optimus. "Though we Autobots cannot risk exposing our existence by joining the search, we must press forward against the Decepticons. It is up to the government to find the whereabouts of the Twins; they are more accustomed to the task."

Now the proverbial shit hit the fan, thought Lennox. He inhaled and exhaled before he said, "Our investigation was rescinded. Director Galloway put a freeze on all of our resources, and he wants to use this incident as an example as to why Autobots should be under constant military supervision."

"What?" Ratchet's voice boomed across the large hangar, as the medic rolled up and transformed. He had only just completed his work on Sideswipe and most likely was on a supply run to help patch him up, but his untimely arrival startled them all—to some degree. "Prime, this is an outrage. That training operation was intended for the benefit of us all; any one fo our operatives could have been taken by these renegade organics."

Optimus shook his head once, copying an almost habitual human gesture as he briefly raised a hand in Ratchet's direction. "Calm down, Ratchet. No matter the reason, we cannot force our human allies to act on our behalf."

"I see, so what part of the term 'alliance' explains this refusual to render us the assistance we need?" The smaller medic replied shortly, closely imitating Ironhide's aggressive stance. It was quickly becoming apparent that the only Autobot present willing to see both sides of the political vendetta was their leader.

"Listen up, I didn't say we weren't going to help," Lennox spoke out loudly, to grab their attention. Three sets of blue, glowing eyes whirled on him. "While we stand around scratching our heads, I have no doubt Galloway's sweet-talking National Security into organizing his own strike team, and I also doubt that team is as interested in getting the Twins back alive as we are. Let's face it; there aren't many bureaucrats jumping at the opportunity to rescue what they see as the least valuable assets to NEST. It's a hamstring; Galloway is waiting for one of you to act irrationally so he can complain to the President and have you kicked off our planet. It's a good ploy, but not good enough."

"All this meandering within your own governing system is maddening," growled Ironhide. "A Prime has the absolute authority, and we give our sparks to ensure his orders are taken care of. Humans simply play games and whine about it when they lose."

"Now is hardly the time to debate this, Ironhide," Optimus reprimanded. "I believe Major Lennox is right. We should explore other means to help Mudflap and Skids beyond NEST jurisdiction. When the Decepticons discover this rift in our coalition with the humans, they most certainly will take advantage of it."

"Spoken like a true Prime," Ratchet agreed, a little somberly. No, they could not go rescue the sparklings themselves due to the desperate need for secrecy, and since no one was particularly attached to the prank-pulling duo, it would not be difficult to explain to the others their decision. On the other hand, leaving the twins in the clutches of the greedy human organization that ordained this insanity was not right. They could easily fault them for being careless and stupid, but not for being young and impulsive.

Not to mention that their non-stop vocal processors were somewhere they could be exposed to the general public. Above all else, they had to ensure the Twins did not make it to the front page of every collection of news articles around the globe.

Lennox clapped his hands together, breaking the abrupt silence. "Galloway can pull the government strings to keep us from acting, but he can't stop me from making phone calls. There's only one man I know both crazy enough and smart enough to put a foot in the door of this investigation. The only one I know of that isn't on the government's payroll, that is."

Ratchet looked at his Prime, and back to the group of human soldiers. "I hope you are not suggesting we contact _him_."

---

"Ma, answer the damn phone already!" shouted Seymour 'Reggie' Simmons, slapping the cold cuts on the flat plastic board. The jingling bell of their telephone continued to ring as his customers lined up one after the other. "For Pete's sake, as if saving the world wasn't enough, my own mother refuses to be my secretary..."

Simmons tossed the deli knife he had been using tip-first into the wooden board next to his station, and strode towards the door to their office. With a greasy hand, he hooked a finger around the phone's receiver and put it to his ear. "This is Seymour, and unless you're ordering ten pounds of Pastrami, I want nothing to do with you people."

* * *

-

TBC


	4. Agreed

_**Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow**_

_**---  
**_

AN: Where is the snow? It's November! My Canadianism is being siphoned by global warming...

* * *

_Chapter Four: Agreed_

_

* * *

  
_

It was unusually hot in the state of Pennsylvania, even though his T.V. promised it would get cooler in a few days. But hey, who was he to complain? A few months ago, the sun was almost destroyed by giant robots. Ninety-two degrees didn't feel so bad anymore.

Sam was sorting through his textbooks, looking for a handout his economics professor had handed out last week. If he didn't find it, he would have to ask Leo to borrow his copy, and his roommate never gave or took anything at face value anymore. Not that he had any basis for comparison; he'd known the guy for two days before he accidentally dragged him into the middle of the Autobots versus Decepticons incident.

He almost fell off the edge of his bed when his phone went off. Scrambling to move the piles of novels, research texts, portfolios and loose leaf papers off his lap, Sam leaned over and grabbed his cell from the floor. He flipped it open and said, "Hello?"

The last voice he ever expected to hear again, husky and distinctly over-dramatic replied, "_Sam Witwicky, I presume?_"

Sam slid off the edge of his bed and leaned against it. "Only if this isn't Simmons, because if it is–"

"_Yeah, yeah, I get it, kid, you don't wanna talk to me. The whole world revolves around your little comfortable life in college. Well I got news for you, Sammy boy; your country needs you_."

"No, it doesn't. Maybe Optimus does and if he did, he'd come talk to me himself. You? You're calling me because you're trying to drag me into a conspiracy you've got locked away in that semi-psychotic...brain of yours, and I already have a roommate who does that all the time. Bye, Simmons."

Just as he reached for the 'end' button with his thumb, he heard Simmons' yell, "_Wait, wait, wait!_"

Not entirely sure why he was bothering, Sam put the phone back to his ear. "What?"

"_This is super-secret, intelligence stuff, kid. This isn't just my ticket back into my dream career, it's a favour to the big guy, and it's doing what's right! You and I both know that's what matters, huh?_"

The college student sighed and wished he'd found that assignment paper five minutes ago. Then he would have missed this call. "What do you want, Simmons?"

"_I need to borrow your Camaro to track down a couple of buddies of ours. You know, the demolition duo_?"

A lengthy paused passed on Sam's end. "First of all, I'm not one of your old Sector Seven compadres, okay? Speak English. Second of all, why are you calling me about this and not Optimus? He's the one who decides where Bee goes, not me."

"_I'm talkin' about Tweedle Red and Tweedle Green, wiseguy," Simmons practically whispered. "Let's just say some unnamed, unknown interlopers got their hands on the twins. Let's just say that you and I are the only ones who could do something about it, legally that is_."

"This coming from the guy who stole half of Sector Seven's files when he got fired from his job," stated Sam blatantly. "Wait a second, did you just say the twins were kidnapped?"

"_Action and consequence, kid. There's just one of our mechanical friends that sweet America doesn't have her bionic eye on, and that's your car. Our odds on finding these boys depend on him_."

"Our? We don't have an established relationship here, Simmons," the student hissed into his phone, instinctively lowering his own voice and hunching over. "Next week is study week; I have three exams coming up. It's bad enough everyone on campus thinks I'm part of some sort of government cover-up, I don't have _time_ to deal with stuff like this."

"_Look, kid, before this gets all personal_," argued the former Sector Seven agent. "_I didn't have much choice in this, either. But guess what? Optimus needs our help. The free world won't do it; politics, kid. It's all politics. If we don't do it, those two are as good as dead, and like it or not, I owe them my life for what happened back with King Kong 3000_."

Sam's grip on his cellphone unconsciously tightened as he groaned. He'd heard about the twins' exploits against Devastator and the story through the somewhat biased point of view of Leo. No Twins, no Simmons, no Simmons, no railgun, no railgun, Devastator. Period. Even Ironhide had admitted out loud that Mudflap's accidental bravery had played an incremental if mostly insignificant part in bringing down the biggest, deadliest Decepticon before the Fallen himself.

Somehow, he felt like a jerk when he thought about weighing the lives of the two most annoying Autobots he'd ever met against his upcoming midterm exams. Even worse was that his exams meant more to him. He wondered what Bee would think about the situation. Actually, according to what he knew about his guardian, Bumblebee had already save the twins from certain death twice before; once back on Cybertron and again when they first arrived on Earth.

"You want Bee to help you find out who stole the Twins," he concluded into his cell, scanning his dorm room with his eyes. They landed on a single piece of paper dangling in the air over the edge of his desk and he groaned inwardly. He'd found his assignment, at least.

"_Exactamundo. Think about how bad the world would turn out to be if Hewey and Dewey showed up on the FOX network_."

A cold realization hit Sam at that moment. "Whoa, whoa, wait a second...Bee can't just leave the city without anybody noticing. Somebody's going to get suspicious if you just show up out of nowhere and drive off. I _know_ Bee'll want to help, if this is something Optimus wants, but..."

"_You said somethin' about study week, kid_?"

Sam paused again. "Oh, no. No, no, no..."

"_You college freshmen go everywhere during study breaks, don't you? Who's gonna care if you take a road trip with your faithful yellow lap log, huh_?"

"I'm not going anywhere! I have exams to study for. That's it. Nothing you can say will convince me to drag me into this."

"_Then what if I said it instead_?"

That made him jump to his feet, sending papers flying in every direction. "Mikaela! What the fu—you've been listening this whole time?"

"_It's called a three-way call, Sam. They invented them, like, ten years ago. I'm going with Simmons to help him find the Twins. I can't believe you're acting like you don't even care what happens to them!_"

"Oh, come on, this isn't fair!" Sam barked, unaware that he was sending spittle flying out of the corner of his mouth. "This is an ambush. It's an ambush, and an invasion of my private phone conversations, and it's not fair. We are _so_ having a long talk about this when I see you this weekend."

"_That's right, you are coming to see me on Friday. You're going to bring Bumblebee with you, then you and Simmons can decide where to start looking for the two people responsible for you finding the Matrix._"

"That's just great. That's perfect. It's so like you to take their side, Mikaela, you know that? Is it okay for me to remind you that the twins almost _killed_ me when they allegedly 'helped' find the Matrix?"

"_You're not going to win this argument, Sam. Your friends are in trouble, and even if it means I have to fly thousands of miles across the country to talk to him myself, I'm going with Bumblebee and I'm helping Simmons find Skids and Mudflap. With, or without you_."

"_Ah, young love. This lover's quarrel almost breaks my heart, except it doesn't, because I barfed it up about two minutes ago_."

"Shut up, Simmons," both of the 'lovers' snapped at the same time.

"Fine. Fine, I'm coming with you," growled Sam, snatching his assignment paper from underneath the stack of books on his desk and crumpling it in his hand. "You're evil; you know I can't let you put yourself in danger and you're exploiting it. But when I fail all three of my exams a week from next Monday, you can tell my parents it was because you're _evil._"

"_Okay, Sam. Anything else you wanna add to that?" _said Mikaela, and he could almost see her eyes rolling in their sockets.

"Yes, I do. You're evil. Also...uh..." He glanced left and right, feeling _very_ uncomfortable about saying this while Simmons was still on the line, so he said it quickly. "I love you. And I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"_I love you too, Sam_."

"_Yeesh. Talk to your Camaro, kid. I'll be in touch in the morning_," Simmons added, before a click pronounced an end to his part of the conversation. Sam also hung up, knowing that twenty-four hours from now, he would be sucked right back into a world that had been dead to him for almost nine weeks.

* * *

-

Blam. Blam, blam. Whine. Sizzle. Hiss, groan. Blam.

Lennox had been to firing ranges a million times in his lifetime; he'd fired thousands upon thousands of bullets himself in those things, and he appreciated the need for safety gear. Without a good pair of soundproof earphones, the noise made your head numb after a few minutes. Epps had twice the training he had in various weapons; it didn't help that sabot rounds were exceptionally louder than conventional ammunition. They went to get their ears checked regularly, so the first symptoms of hearing loss wouldn't go overlooked.

Whine, grind, blam. Ka-blam, ka-blam.

Safety gear be damned, walking into an Autobot firing range was like standing in front of a cinema speaker cranked on high during a war movie.

Diego Garcia came complete with twenty acres of scattered junk—a well-stationed , boxed-in area with large, shapeless hulks of metal and plaster and whatever industrial scrap they flew in to set up the training square. It wasn't there simply to keep the Autobots from losing their edge—especially the new arrivals—it was also there for the same reason most police acedemies had firing ranges: to vent. Suppressed anger was bad for everyone, robotic and organic alike.

Ironhide was tearing up the range like it was made of cheese.

Lennox stood behind one of the thick plastic shields that kept flying shrapnel from striking onlookers, viewing the black Autobot for several minutes with his arms crossed. Ironhide whirled around a few times, releasing showers of armour-piercing bullets and missiles into the twisted hunks of former buses, cars and towering, six-inch thick support cages. Some of them went flying like toys being thrown around by a toddler, others melted on contact and toppled over. Eventually, after running out of ammunition for the third time, Ironhide slowed to a halt, his cannons spinning and glowing as they too stopped. Before he could locate a pile of scrap metal small enough to refuel with, Lennox hefted the M-4 Carbine in his arms and began to stroll over to him.

"Hey, Ironhide," he said loudly, squinting under his sunglasses. "Nice shooting. You, uh, haven't rendered that old T-72 tank down there to scrap yet. Compared to everything else, it looks a bit lonely."

Ironhide turned to face him, blue optics revealing nothing. He glanced over at the shell of the retired tank fifty yards away, raised a single cannon, and blew it up. The depleted weapon spun and retracted into his arm as he transformed it into a normal-looking appendage. "Why are you here, Major?"

"What's it look like? I'm here to join you. Our shooting range is a little crowded and they don't let us use these bad boys indoors," Lennox explained, peering over top of his rifle as he aimed it at the flaming debris of the T-72. "Epps would have come too, but you called his latest invention a toy, so he's probably sulking while his ego heals over."

"I was being diplomatic about it," defended the black Autobot, grunting indifferently. "You shouldn't be here. It is dangerous to simply meander about while I am calibrating my targeting sensors."

"Is that what you were doing?" Lennox twisted left and right to survey the burning wreckage of what was _supposed_ to be a long-lasting array of metal decoys. He let out a low whistle. "Hate to be in an argumentative mood, but I've fought beside you guys in much more dangerous situations dozens of times. There's also about fifteen soldiers standing around keeping an eye on you in case you go off the deep end. I think it'll help convince them you're not going to kill us all if I'm out here, too."

"This is not even my most vigorous training session yet. Your companions should worry more about the Decepticons tearing this place apart than my actions." Ironhide spoke as though he were stating the obvious, as always. He seemed distracted, more so than usual. "Hmm, the sun is setting already. This planet's days are too brief."

Lennox took careful aim at the remains of an old refrigerator and opened fire on the unoffensive junk. The powerful rounds sliced through the back of the gaping plastic-and-metal door as thing finally gave way and crumpled in half. In the silence that followed, he lowered his M-4 and stared at the carnage before looking up at the Autobot. "You and I both know Optimus isn't happy about letting Galloway get away with this, Ironhide. You, obviously, know better than I do. I probably don't even have to point that out, but since I'm responsible for convincing my government you're not going to threaten this planet...well, you get the idea."

"You talk as though the sparks of two Autobots were not dependent on that, Major," said the Autobot, or growled, rather. "Optimus may have high hopes for the human race, yet still you all fail to realize the value of a single spark. Our deaths are little more than an inconvenience to your government. And truly, how inconvenient it must be to take responsibility for your actions when our soldiers pay the price for human greed."

It was probably the one and only time Ironhide would ever refer to the Twins as 'soldiers', and the thoughtful expression, however accusatory, made sense to Lennox. There were other factors behind the Autobot's moodiness, obviously, but there was no chance Ironhide would do anything to break his loyalty to Optimus Prime. Still, for some reason, Lennox wanted to convince him that not all humans were that quick to give into greed or laziness. If anyone was up to that task, however, it wouldn't be him. The major had seen _far_ too much of the negative side of humanity to practice what he wanted to preach.

"Why don't we just shoot a bunch of stuff for the next ten minutes before we head back?" he offered, tightening his grip on the M-4 Carbine.

Ironhide, his internal systems having restocked his deadly arsenal to an acceptable level, charged his weapons and nodded curtly. "Agreed."

* * *

-

TBC


	5. Screw Up

**_Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow_**

**_---  
_**

AN: Warning: Chapter contains cuteness.

Let's give Mudflap a lisp. I'll 'fratinizthe' with Alan Dean Foster's rendition, if only for the non-sequitur purpose of fish. No, wait...character. I meant character.

I update a lot. Hmmm...

* * *

_Chapter Five: Screw Up  
_

_

* * *

  
_

Marileen Elizabeth Cheilwender pressed her little nose against the thick glass and stared at the big robots.

She was seven. Her mom had told her that when you turn seven, you get to know a lot more things that babies weren't allowed to know. Sometimes daddy made big machines and toys that did cool stuff, like her cell phone she could use to call home when she was lost or scared. She wasn't supposed to be here, but she really liked the colour green, and she thought daddy had bought a new green car.

Robots were for boys. Yet she couldn't help but stare at them, because they were big and moved a lot. Quietly, she put a finger on the glass and tapped a few times. It didn't make a very loud noise, but the reen robot turned and saw her. Completely unafraid, she tapped the glass again.

Skids leaned forward, shuffling toward the glass wall until his face hovered about three feet from hers. He raised his right hand and poked the glass a few times, this time making a loud 'ping' sound. The little girl with the brown ponytail broke into an ecstatic grin and giggled, this time using a finger from both of her small hands to tap out a rhythm on the transparent barricade.

"Yo, Mudflap," said Skids, waggling his fingers at his brother to gesture him over. "This lil' princess's got mo' style than you does. Come take a look at 'dis."

"Huh?" The red twin jerked out of his daze and blinked in his direction. He got up off the floor and waltzed over to them. "Tha'ths the enemy, thtupid-aft. Quit fratinizthin' with the bad guyth."

Marileen shrank back from the glass wall as the red robot came closer. He didn't look as nice as the other one.

"Aw, look wha' you did, you's scared her," said Skids, reaching out to slap his twin on the shoulder. "We was jammin', s'all. What, now you's scared of lil' girls, too?"

"I ain't thcared, man, but jutht in case you fo'got, we in _prithson._ Gettin' captured by mo-fos with big-aft chopperth, 'member that?"

"You shouldn't say bad words," Marileen said crossly, folding her arms. The Twins looked at her in surprise, their collective attention arrested by her voice. "My mom said every time you say a bad word, a star falls out of the sky and dies. You shouldn't say bad words."

"Girlie's got a point, Mudface." Skids examined the itty bitty human on the other side of the glass. "'Tho' I guess she ain't here to crush us outta this bird cage, are you, lil' princess?"

The seven-year-old shook her head fervently, clutching her arms to herself. "My daddy would be _really_ mad if I touched anything of his. He yells at my mom if I do something I'm not allowed."

"Go on, dangle fo' all we care," Mudflap jumped in, making a shooing motion with his smaller arm. "We'th gotta plan ta bustht outta here. Go tell yo daddy 'bout that, munchkin."

"Hey, hey, Mudflap. Mudflap, listen to 'dis." The green Twin turned to face his brother, looking like he had something important to say. Mudflap blinked at him, silently waiting for the punch line. After a second or two, Skids drew his big arm back and socked him square in the face, knocking the other Autobot off his feet. "Dat's fo lettin' yoself get pinched in da first place, moron!"

Ignoring his brother's complaints, the green Autobot twisted around to face the little girl, only to find that she had disappeared. "Damn, th' audience's left da building. We's_ so_ screwed now. Mudflap, you need t'learn how to communicate."

The Twins stood in the middle of the gray-and-white circular room, under the glare of fluorescent lights and surrounded by concrete. Mudflap ambled back over to the spot where he had been no-so-much focusing on his 'plan' while his brother paced back and forth in front of the glass wall.

It wasn't as though he couldn't bust it down. It would be easy to try, but the old ugly guy had said their room was booby-trapped with some sort of gas, and they'd already come close to being melted down in molten slag once. If he started shooting things up, a bunch of humans would probably get hurt, too. The little girl could get hurt. For all he knew, those rock solid walls could be ten feet thick, and no one short of maybe Ironhide could break that down.

"Don' choo worry, bro," Skids said, looking up, down, left and right to survey their cell for the millionth time. "Optimus's gonna come get us. We jes' gotta sit tight an' wait."

* * *

-

"...and just what do you think about the alien robots versus weapons of mass destruction issue, Dr. Madrick?"

Reception was bad out here in Diego Garcia, but the image of Madrick on the old T.V. Set was clearer to Lennox than ninety-nine percent of the world's population. The doctor wasn't just the liaison for research and technology with the Autobots, he was also a pretty damn good public relations genius.

"You know, Jonathan, I'm going to have to go with Occam's Razor on this point; the simplest answer is usually the right one and when you think about it, giant alien robots? What are the odds of that happening? We've seen what the United States has to offer in terms of weaponry. I know from first-hand experience just how advanced military technology is today, and it isn't too far fetched to say that war machines that complex could exist. There are _lots_ of oppositional terrorist groups out there with both the motive," said Madrick, touching one of his fingers as he listed off his reasons, "Not to mention the means necessary to hijack video footage of top-secret arsenal projects and use them to frighten citizens all across the globe."

"The motive and means, meaning they could have simultaneously hacked multiple commercial satellites from one end of the planet to the other, performed a live broadcast of the their message _and_ followed through on some of their threats?" The anchor of the political news show seemed to purposely frown, as though his tendency to disagree with everything was written into a script—which it probably was. "I don't know, Dr. Madrick, putting all that together, big alien robots starts to seem like the much simpler answer to me. Dozens of people have _seen_ these robots with their own eyes; hundreds have lost a family member, a friend or otherwise to their relentless path of destruction."

"Technology isn't a basketball game, Jonathan," Madrick said, sounding convincingly like he was distressed about having to explain himself in layman's terms. "The ball doesn't go in the basket the same way, every time. Even robotics as advanced as this have the potential to be copied and distributed, but in its complexity, errors arise. Potentially, a machine built to protect and comfort the citizens of America could be used against citizens of America. We all learned that lesson on 9/11, didn't we?"

Apparently the anchor didn't expect that, because he was visually stunned for about half a second before responding. Lennox couldn't listen to more of the broadcast, because the soldier he'd assigned to deliver him updates on the status of their captured Autobots suddenly appeared. He had an urgent expression, so the major picked up his remote—the working one—and switched off his television. "Tell me there's a call, private," he said to the younger man's eager face.

"We got one, sir. The unidentified contact in on the line right now, but he claims he won't talk to anyone but the man in charge, sir."

Lennox left his rickety desk and followed his escort across the open hangar, into the electronically locked doors that lead to the white-washed hallway, turned a few corners and finally reached the communications center. The room was alive with ringing phones, keyboard tapping, rustling papers and a dull mixture of voices as people tried to make sense of the incoming transmissions from cities worldwide. The search for the slightest trace of Decepticon activity endless if exhausting.

The private directed him to a quieter corner of the room, where one of the technicians handed him a microphone. Lennox put it on, and someone hit a red button somewhere. "This is Major Lennox," the NEST commander said into his headset.

"_Good afternoon, major_," said a heavily filtered voice over the speakers of a nearby view screen. The screen itself only showed white noise, not unexpectedly. "_I'm sorry for the clich_é_d set of circumstances in which we must meet, but you and your military must have realized by now that my employer means business._"

"You don't say," Lennox replied, as he exchanged glances with his men. "If you know know enough to presume what we think, then you might also know that we don't take kindly to people kidnapping our allies. Nor do we negotiate with enemies of the state."

_"Enemies of the state? How uncanny, because I was under the impression that these 'Autobots' in my employer's custody were of alien origin. Don't quote your constitution to me, major. I'm only in this for the money."_

Lennox signaled for the technician to put the line on hold, which he did. The major looked straight at his chief communications officer, Sergeant Lenny. "Did you tell him about the Autobots?"

"No, sir. We made no attempts to communicate with the contact before you arrived."

"So there's only two other ways these people could possibly know that they're called Autobots. I don't like that," the major said sharply, displaying an unusual level of short-tempered behaviour. He nodded, and the technician hit the button again. "Let me be nice and clear," he said into the mic. "If either one of those Autobots shows even the slightest sign of being mishandled, you boys'll meet their commanding officer on the wrong side of his temper. This is your last chance to decide not to screw with us, whoever you are. Believe me, I'm only saying this because I care."

"_I have no idea what you're talking about, major. I am only the messenger. I myself have yet to set my eyes on these 'aliens', so I could not possibly tell you what their current condition might be. I do, however, have a very brief list of demands for their release."_

"If you feel like wasting your breath, go right ahead. How much does he want?"

"_This is not a question of money, Major Lennox, at least, not for them. His demand is as follows: within twenty-four hours of zero one hundred hours Pacific Standard Time, on the morning of October the eleventh, the United States of America will issue a statement of sorts on a major networking station in regards to the truth of alien activity on Earth. This statement will outline the government's involvement with the aliens and confess to the murders of countless innocents who died during the incidents of alien warfare. If this demand is not met to the satisfaction of my employer, the Autobots in his custody will be taken before the American public and then executed. All the world will know your secrets, and the lives of the aliens will be forfeit."_

A lengthy silence drifted over the heads of the men standing around Lennox. Shortly after, the voice on the speakers continued by saying, "_That is paraphrasing, of course. I myself would have attempted to be more poetic about the situation, seeing as it is an historic event that will impact the lives of billions. _

"Short and sweet, huh?" said Lennox, swallowing. "Well like I said, we don't make licking the boots of kidnappers and terrorists a custom of ours, so you can tell your employer we'll deal with this the way were usually do. Only this time, my old friend Optimus Prime is going to be our ambassador. Enjoy your paycheque while you can."

"_It was a pleasure speaking to you, major." _There was a definite click, and the line was dead. Lennox tore the headset off and tossed it to the technician standing by, resisting the urge to swear out loud.

"You probably shouldn't have said that, sir," said Sergeant Lenny, scratching at his black stubble a little nervously. "You volunteered information they may not have by mentioning Optimus, and we both know the bureaucrats aren't going to let him do squat so long as Director Galloway's in charge."

"I've got a feeling he knows a lot about Optimus," Lennox shot right back, putting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor in thought. "I'm not a diplomat. But I do know one thing, and that's that we have one thing working for us. They don't know about our team being grounded, and so long as they think there's half an army of Autobots ready to take down their ceilings, the Twins have a chance of getting back to Diego Garcia alive. Tell me I don't have to remind you that them being alive is a good thing."

"Yes, sir. What do you want us to do in the meantime?"

"Not expecting much more than your jobs," came the reply, as Lennox turned to leave. He stopped and turned around. "When I get back, I want a detailed report I can fax to our outside operatives. I'm going to get Optimus' input on how badly he wants his soldiers back. And before this is all over, let's all hope to God that Simmons isn't going to screw up."

* * *

-

TBC


	6. Rodents

**_Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow_**

-

AN: Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur.

* * *

_Chapter Six: Rodents_

_

* * *

  
_

Carrying eighty pounds of luggage through the Pennsylvania airport parking lot was not what Sam envisioned he would be doing to kick off his study break. He was happy to see Mikaela, sure, but it wasn't until he realized what it was he was carrying that he _really_ began to have a problem.

"Wait, whoa, whoa..." Sam slowed to a stop behind his girlfriend, about fifteen feet away from Bee. He hefted one of the metal cases he was carrying into the air and raised his brow at her. "Please, please don't tell me this is what I think it is."

Mikaela sighed impatiently and reached out to snatch the carrying case from his hand. "Don't get all defensive, Sam. What was I supposed to do, leave him behind where my dad would find out? Besides, he's learned how to behave. He might even be useful."

"_The Warrior Goddess speaks de truth, smart gu_y," came the muffled voice of a very small robot from within the case.

Sam threw his hands up in the air. "Mikae...Mikaela, that's a Decepticon! We can't bring a tiny, little...freakazoid everywhere we go! How did you even get him through airport security?"

"_Hey, hey, I'm an Autobot now, remember? Don't get your frilly panties in a bunch_," snapped the 'Decepticon' from within his cage. "_Can we get a move on already? I'm dyin' in here!_"

Ignoring him, Mikaela turned to the transformed Bumblebee and muttered a softer, more pleasant greeting to the Autobot in disguise. He popped his trunk in response, and she loaded her suitcase and her backpack inside. She hesitated while she held onto Wheelie's case, then shut the Autobot's trunk before going to the side door. Tossing the case into the back seat, she then turned around with her elbow resting on top of Bee's door. "Are you coming or not?" she asked her boyfriend.

"Right, sure. Whatever. Hey, if you want to trust a ten pound mechanical chihuahua, who am I to argue? Simmons is waiting for us at a motel a few miles down the road."

He said nothing else to her as he walked to the driver's side and got inside. As usual, he put his hands on the steering wheel with no intentions of actually doing the driving—Bee knew the way and was completely capable of getting there on his own. But people tended to expect other people to drive with their hands on the wheel, and the last thing he needed was to attract any more attention. Because a bright yellow 2007 Camaro didn't stick out enough.

The radio suddenly whined and sputtered on, playing a song Sam barely knew. "_So I ain't gonna nag and I ain't gonna trip, I ain't gonna do any arguing. 'Cause I love my man, and I plan on keeping him..."_

Sam rolled his eyes at Bee's attempt to tease his relationship with Mikaela, ignoring Mikaela's content smirk. She was enthusiastic enough to be thrust into the middle of another Autobot disaster; maybe it was because she really wanted to help, and maybe it was because she wanted to do something other than fix her father's cars. He _wanted_ to help, Sam reminded himself. Turning his back on Optimus last time had resulted in some...really bad things, and there was no way he wanted to risk that ever happening again. He just wished he could help and not have to leave his dorm room.

_Sure. Next time he asks for help, I'll just e-mail myself to him,_ he thought disdainfully, silently berating himself for wishing for something so stupid.

The metal case in the back seat began to rattle and curse as Bee pulled out of the airport lot and drove towards the main road. Finally, the lid burst open and Wheelie sprang out, clutching the shoulders of the front seats as he made a series of overdramatic gasping sounds. "I can't...stand it in there...anymore. I can't move, I can't see, I can't _breathe—_well not that I gotta breathe, but it's like livin' in a coffin—"

"Look, if you're coming with us, you have to stay quiet. Seriously, just—starting right now, don't say anything," snapped Sam, glancing over his shoulder without taking his hands off the wheel. "Decepticon, Autobot—I really don't care right now, but if you keep talking, you can spend the rest of the trip in Bee's trunk."

"Geez, who lubricated in your coffee this mornin'?" muttered the small drone, blinking his completely restored now dark blue optics. At one point, Ratchet had somewhat begrudgingly fixed his eye and changed his spark signature—a task that wasn't easily done, apparently. Wheelie settled into the seat behind them and kept his trap shut as he was told, quite content to simply enjoy the freedom after spending hours trapped inside a dark, three-cubic foot metal box.

"So what's the plan?" Mikaela asked after a few minutes of complete silence.

"_We will no longer negotiate, we will no longer tolerate and will will no longer be afraid. It's your turn to be afraid,"_ came Harrison Ford's voice over Bee's speakers. Sam flashed a grin down at the radio out of habit.

"I think Bumblebee knows what he plans on doing," he said out loud, glancing out his side window for a second or two, half-expecting Decepticons to jump out of nowhere. It was a hard feeling to shake, this being the first time he'd left the comfort zone of the city and the surveillance of the U.S. military. "Simmons, on the other hand...well, he's Simmons. Considering the fact that what we're about to do is considered very, very illegal, I can only imagine what he'd got in mind."

Mikaela leaned back in her seat; Bumblebee reclined it slightly for her and she folded her arms confidently. "I'm glad you're doing this, Sam."

The whir of his car's engine and the passing of a car in the opposite lane broke the pause that occured before Sam replied. "Yeah," he said, sounding only half convinced. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

-

"I have been thinking, Optimus."

The commander of the Autobots knew the voice of his weapons' specialist all too well by now, though it was not a phrase he heard often when not spoken by Ratchet or Salvage. With the NEST team grounded, he had been dwelling on the events of the past few days in solitude, unable to come up with a solution that would cater to both the human government's many laws and his own morality. Optimus turned to view Ironhide as the other Autobot approached him.

"And what exactly have you been thinking about, Ironhide?" he asked, waiting for what he hoped was a logical answer. No one had been acting as irrationally as Ironhide since the disturbance in India, though Optimus knew better than to question why. At least, not directly.

"The political system of this planet is backwards. Even if we put aside the blatant flaunting of their government's diplomacy, we're stuck in his sorry excuse of a hangar for a very long time."

"Somehow, I have the feeling that is not all you came here to say," said the Prime, gazing down with patience and respect.

"When the Decepticons begin to move, then they will call on us again," Ironhide explained with an obvious hint of ire. "I propose we move to complete two directives at once. Destroy the Decepticons while we rescue the twin from captivity."

Optimus's optics studied him in surprise. "Are you suggesting..."

"The humans have immobilized us, but the Decepticons have no such limitations. We should leak information; two Autobots are in unprotected human custody. Our enemy will hunt them down for us. Then we simply follow their tracks and intercept them."

"That would endanger the lives of the twins, Ironhide. There is no guarantee that we will be there to stop the Decepticons from slaughtering everyone once they find their location." The commander of the Autobots shook his head slowly, another local trait he had picked up—one that almost every one of his officers had assimilated, though mostly so because they emulated their leader without even being consciously aware of it. "Countless humans will die as well. It is a strategy I have already considered. Very briefly."

"We've seen our alternatives. We will be paraded in front of billions of humans. Our only sound option is to find the twins a swiftly as possible, or else we _will_ be required to leave this planet."

"Is it our only option? Or are you desperate enough to fix your own mistake that you would be willing to sacrifice the lives of both Autobots and humans to do so? You failed to keep the mercenaries from capturing your subordinates, and I understand how troubling your position must be. But I still expect better behaviour from my senior officers. I say this with my respects intact, Ironhide—get over it."

Perhaps it was being talked down to by a Prime, as though he were a first class rookie, that made Ironhide rigid with anger. But it was _this_ Prime that made him realize the guilt he had shut away since the day the helicopters carried off the twin delinquents. Optimus could have simply transmitted the same message, but it would have lost most of its sting. If the humans had one thing going for them, it was their spectrum of emotive languages.

"Anything else to add, Optimus?" he asked, uncaring for the fact that Arcee had arrived just minutes ago and was observing them quietly.

"No. Dismissed."

"Ironhide..." Arcee began to say, as the weapons' specialist turned to leave. The black Autobot merely snorted and transformed quickly, landing on all four wheels with a 'whump' before pulling away. The sky was darkening around his retreating figure, the clock on the dimly lit wall reading a perfect twenty-one hundred hours. Now Arcee looked to Optimus with grave concern, as they both knew their deadline began early next morning.

Twenty-eight hours left until they either lost their vital secrecy, or lost their youngest operatives. Or both.

* * *

-

The brothers decided to recharge in their terrestrial guises, mostly because it was hard to find a comfortable spot to rest inside the blank, empty room. Since the tiny human girl left, no one had come inside the warehouse to observe them. Apparently, no one was worried about the robots escaping. The Twins had agreed to keep their vocals shut in case someone came along to ask more questions; it was bad enough they would get scrapped by Ratchet and Ironhide for falling into enemy hands—if that's what this was.

Rather than inventing a game to pass the time, Skids and Mudflap settled into their tightly wound prison with uncharacteristically deafening silence. It wasn't until well after midnight that the metal door across from the glass wall buzzed and swung open.

With an echoing click, the door closed behind the seven-year-old as she slipped inside. She had a plate in her arms, which was covered with a clingy film of transparent plastic. Neither of the twins flinched as she pranced over to the wall with the second door, crouching next to the heavily sealed entrance to the holding area, just in front of the metal vent two inches off the floor.

With deft fingers, Marileen took two cookies from under the plastic and tried to push them through the narrow slots in the vent. When they didn't fit, she carefully took a bite out of each before sliding the round raisin-and-oatmeal treats to the other side and standing up. She tapped on the barrier.

Slowly at first, the green car on the opposite side of the glass began to move, morphing into the robots she talk to earlier today. The one named Mudflap changed, too. They stood just on the other side of the glass, which brought a brilliant grin to her face.

"Wha' choo doin' here, princess?" asked Skids, hunkered down and lowering his voice as though afraid to be overheard. "S'way past yo bedtime."

"I brought you some cookies," she explained, hugging her plate to her chest. "I heard daddy saying he was going on a trip with you tomorrow and you should never fly on an empty tummy. It'll make you sick."

Mudflap and Skids glanced down at the pile of crumbs that used to be cookies on the floor, then at each other. The green twin tilted his head a little at the little girl. "Y'know, someone should lock you up fo bein' so damn adorable. But choo shouldn' be in here; you'll get in trouble."

"I'm okay," she insisted, with a confident smirk as she flexed her fingers around the edge of the plate. "I know a way inside that no one else knows about. Except Dilbert."

"Dilbert? Who'th that thupposed to be?" Mudflap chimed in.

"My invisible little brother." Marileen looked over both her shoulders and shrugged. "He ran away because he's scared of robots, but he's actually very nice. Maybe you can meet him before you have to leave in in the morning."

"Invisible little brotha?" Skids blinked his mechanical eyes at her, processing this. "Tha's sweet. I wish ma little brotha was invisible. He's scared of big robots, too," he said, jerking a thumb towards his twin.

Marileen scrunched her face up and giggled as Mudflap kicked the back of Skids' leg in retaliation. The green Autbot was about to ask the human sparkling to go back to bed so they _all_ didn't get into trouble, when the ground under their feet shook tremendously.

A roaring sound, like a jet plane passing overhead within a scarce hundred feet, made the very air itself ripple as a single coffee mug on the circle of empty desks in the corner rattled and smashed to the ground. Skids lurched forward, losing his balance before hit the glass with a metal crunch. Marileen shrieked in terror. She threw herself into the corner between the holding cell door and the bulletproof wall, wrapping her arms around her head.

Everything went still, but the quietness was soon broken by the sound of hissing missiles and a loud, trembling explosion. Somewhere on the outside of the building, a war had erupted. Through the walls of concrete and aluminum, men were shouting at the top of their lungs as gunfire began to echo from one side of the complex to the other. By now, their seven-year-old visitor was sobbing out loud and wailing the word 'daddy' softly under the heavy racket.

Skids grabbed Mudflap's extended hand and flipped up on his feet, blue optics widening immensely. "Uh oh," he said. "That ain't Optimus. Mudflap, we gotta roll. We can't fight no Decepticons righ' now!"

"No we can't, thpecially from inthide this can, we can't," the red twin agreed. "We don't got no choice now, Skidth. We gotta bustht our way out!"

"Aw, awright," sputtered Skids, looking aroud wildly and trying to think faster than he was normally accustomed to. He got down and closer to Marileen, tapping on the glass. "Hey, lil' girl. You gotta go over there, go hide around d'ose desks, okay? You gonna be safe there, I promise."

She sniffed loudly enough that they heard it over the gunfire, splintering rocks and metal, and she looked up at him. With a terrified squeak, she jumped up and raced over to where the steel desks were gathered, curling up behind the nearest one.

In unison, the twin Autobots stepped back a few paces from the curved surface of the glass wall, just as the door at the end of the room swung open and half a dozen heavily armed militants swarmed inside. Before they could take any action whatsoever, Skids powered up the guns on his right arm, and fired three explosive rounds alongside his brother's sudden volley of missiles.

Smoke, flame and grating concussion pressed against the thick wall of glass. The very outer layer shattered, but for a few seconds, it seemed as though nothing more would happen. Then, very slowly, a large crack punctured through the center of the mosaic fragments, and the weight of the glass itself carried the creaking flaw, snapping through one layer after another until it stretched from top to bottom. The barrier gave a final groan of defiance before it collapsed in on itself.

Cheilwender's men opened fire on the Twins as Skids charged into the last, tough layers of glass and polyurethane, bursting through to the other side. Unfettered by the bullets pinging and ricocheting off their armour, the duo turned toward the warehouse doors down on the far, far end of the building. Mudflap started to sprint in the direction of freedom, unaware that he left Skids where he was standing. The green twin hesitated, looking between the men with guns and the desks in the corner.

Another explosion hit the outside wall nearby, reminding him of the big old threat that was going to wipe out all the humans here whether they did something about it or not. Kicking some of the broken glass at the six humans, Skids half-stumbled over to where the little girl was and ducked his head to look underneath her hiding place. "C'mon, sista—this ain't no place fo a princess. Me'an Mudflap'll get choo someplace safe."

For a few seconds, Marileen shrank back against the metal side of the desk, staring at him as she wailed lowly. When the warehouse shook again, she screamed and threw herself at the Autobot hunkering in front of her only escape route. She clung to his right arm like a leech.

The commander of the humans shouted at his men to cease fire as soon as he saw Marileen appear in the Autbot's grasp. Skids turned away to negate the threat of her itty bitty body getting hurt by a stray bullet and, with her clutching an arm almost as big as she was, started to run after his twin.

He got maybe twenty feet when the roof overhead blew open. From the rain of concrete, an enormous metal body plummeted to the floor of the warehouse and landed on two feet. Amidst the dust and dim, flickering lights, Starscream stood up and maximized the output of every last weapon in his arsenal.

"Greetings, rodent," he sneered. "Now goodbye, rodents!"

* * *

-

TB (yawn) C


	7. Amen

**_Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow_**

-

AN: Raise curtains! Enigma!

* * *

_Chapter Seven: Amen_

* * *

October in Arizona, somewhere in the middle of a desert, fifty miles from the nearest sign of civilization—this was it. This was where the off-the-charts RAD readings had led him and his team.

Lennox expected certain things while tracking down Decepticons. His friends the Autobots taught him one thing, especially one thing that mattered the most when dealing with ruthless aliens with advanced weaponry, and that was to never underestimate them. Or their potential for destruction, for that matter.

There had been a political hiccup when dealing with this particular mission; the White House, under the scrupulous advice of Mr. Galloway, had decided that the Autobots should_ not_ engage in search-and-rescue operations where concerning their missing teammates. Now fighting Decepticons, that was another story. If he'd been Optimus, Lennox would have happily told Galloway where he could stick his gear stick, but that just proved how he and the big guy had their subtle differences.

Now they stood on the edge of what appeared to be a former research complex of some kind: two large buildings with an array of satellite dishes on top and a warehouse. At least, what used to be a warehouse. It had been turned into swiss cheese and left on the frying pan too long. Four vehicles pulled up behind the NEST leader, two of which transformed into bipedal Autobots and stood up to survey the debacle. Sixteen of his most experienced strike team members unloaded from the remaining jeeps, splitting the dust with their boots as they landed on the ground.

"Something chewed up that building and spat it out the other end," Epps muttered, stepping into place next to Major Lennox. "Whatever it was, whoever it was, I hope that it's _long_ gone."

"We need to figure out what the Decepticons wanted from this place so badly," the major replied, looking up at their escorts. Ironhide and Optimus were looking out over the grouped buildings, clearly unconvinced that the enemy presence was gone. "Any ideas, you two?"

"This is not an energy-producing facility," observed the commander of the Autobots. "It appears the warehouse was their main target, which leads me to believe that intelligence was not their goal."

"Pity," remarked Ironhide, loading his right-hand cannon. "If there is one thing the Decepticons lack, it is intelligence."

"All right, listen up!" shouted Lennox, turning to face the gathered NEST team. "Air support reported strong radioactive activity in the area surrounding the warehouse. That means it's possible that there are Decepticons laying in ambush. Ironhide's team will hit the east end, circle around and meet Prime team back here in one hour. That means no bathroom breaks, no sightseeing, and constant radio contact."

"Uh, yes sir; sir, I gots a question?" said one of the sergeants who had come with them, Sergeant Prentice, raising a hand in the air. "What do we do if we see a Decepticon, sir?"

"Very funny, Sergeant," replied Lennox, half-grinning as he took his favourite carbine from a soldier standing nearby. He checked the clip, then cocked the gun. "Move out!"

The autumn sun glared down on them, not particularly hot though the air was dry and smokey. It was a cooler day in the south, tribute to the swiftly declining weather across the United States. Rolls of dust billowed underneath the wheels of the two Autobots as they pulled out in their truck guises; both teams of ten men and women backed by four helicopters and F-15's on standby split apart and took their positions on either side of their robot counterparts. Lennox and Optimus' group made a beeline for the caved-in front end of the warehouse while Ironhide gave it a wide berth, running for a wider approach from the opposite side.

The first thing he noticed was the bodies. Men in non-standard military grab—mercs, he decided—lay strewn all over the field of debris. Some corpses were intact, crushed by concrete, punctured with shrapnel or just riddled with bullets. Others were barely recognizable. The soldiers didn't bat an eye at the carnage, while Optimus respectfully avoided driving over top of the odd arm or leg; sometimes one of Lennox's men stepped in to nudge or roll a body aside to give their Autobot teammate a clear path. Less often, a teammate stopped to check some of the bodies for signs of life, but it was out of courtesy for the dead rather than in hope for the living.

Civilians. There were signs that some of the remains had once been unarmed engineers or scientists, which irritated the hell out of the major. These poor bastards probably didn't even know what hit them when the Decepticons attacked.

"_Major, we've got med evac inbound," _came Second Lieutenant Combry's voice over his radio. "_We're clearing a safe zone for survivors, sir. It should be ready in about ten."_

Lennox put a hand on his radio, trying not to grimace. "I don't think there's many survivors, lieutenant. Set down and wait, just in case we get lucky."

He carefully stepped over the mutilated concrete and rebar that lay scattered around the demolished north wall of the warehouse. All smoke and fires had died out since the attack, but the wind was blowing the dust cloud from Prime's wheels right in their eyes, making for poor visibility. As a well-coordinated group, his eight men inhaled the same acidic air as they climbed through the gaping hole and into the (hopefully) empty storage building.

Glass crackled under his boots. Lennox looked down to find a whole blanket of broken shards of it in front of him, which led his eyes to the large, concrete structure standing about fifty feet from the collapsed section of the warehouse. There was a smashed-up wall of glass dividing them from its whitewashed interior, and though it stretched all the way to the ceiling, the top half seemed to have been made with steel plates rather than concrete.

"Some kind of holding cell, sir," said Private Jennings, moments after the team cleared the surrounding area. More mercenary bodies lay on the ground in various positions, most of which had probably been burnt by the same explosion that took down the north wall. "Whatever was inside it, looks like it got out."

"We're about to live out America's worst horror movie of all time," said Prentice in a husky voice. "You know, the one where the monster gets out of its cage, kills everyone in the facility, then escapes to terrorize the citizens of the nearest big city before they drop a nuke on it."

Optimus had transformed into his full height, and luckily managed to stand up inside the hangar without scraping his head. His optics flickered over the containment unit with uncertainty. "They were here," he announced with restrained gravity. "My hunch was correct. The owner of this facility was holding the Twins in this cell until very recently."

"Wait, wait," Lennox said, peering up at his large cohort. "You can tell that kind of thing? Why not a Decepticon? That would explain why this place was attacked; they could have been rescuing one of their own."

"Because, Major Lennox," said Optimus, turning his head to look down at him and adding, "A Decepticon would not leave this behind." Pointing at the center of the empty cell, the Autobot commander drew up a holographic image which essentially magnified something scored into the painted concrete: a charred Autobot symbol.

Lennox stared for a moment before draggind a hand over his face. "Okay, so, mystery solved. Assuming you're right, they're clearly long gone by now. Which leads us to the question—did, or did the Decepticons not attack—"

"Major!" called a somewhat alarmed voice. Prentice and two other of his unit were staring at something just around the other side of the cell, and they had their weapons aimed at whatever it was. Strafing to stand between two of just juniors, the major preceded Optimus as he went to investigate.

He let out a low whistle as he observed the devastation in front of him. There were just a few piles of debris here and there, most of which came from a gaping hole in the ceiling, but what he didn't expect to find were the splintered, broken remains of a dark blue Decepticon littered across the ground like so many bits of Lego. It had been ripped apart by something. One, two, three...there were eight pieces in total, and quite a lot of metal scraps.

"Just who, or what in God's name did that?" Prentice asked out loud, once again unaware that he was speaking his mind. It may have been a Decepticon, but witnessing one that had been chewed up like a stuffed gorilla was not a rare occurrence.

Lennox look over to Optimus for answers, but the Autbot looked on with no visible sense of recognition. "I have no recollection of this one's identity," he admitted. "Though it appears he was young, perhaps as young as Bumblebee. He would have been raised on Cybertron long after we left."

"It's a Decepticon. Or it _was_ a Decepticon," Jennings said matter-of-factly, lowering his carbine just slightly. "He's dead. That's all I care about. Did Skids and Mudflap do that? I'm sorry, sir, but that just doesn't seem like...you know...possible."

"No," Optimus confirmed. "This goes far beyond their capabilities. This level of mutilation would suggest another Decepticon was the cause."

"Doesn't explain where the Twins went, or how they managed to escape his fate," said Lennox. "Start searching for possible remains. Maybe they got out before the Decepticons arrived, or maybe they're mixed in with the debris outside. Either way, it'd be nice to know if Megatron targeted this place because he knew, or for some other reason we haven't figure out yet."

Prentice stooped down to pick something up off the floor—a plastic plate, and under the tightly clinging plastic wrap, an assortment of brand name cookies. "This has got to be the weirdest thing I'd expect to find in a place like this. Look, it's got those fuzzy animal stickers all over it. My niece loves these things."

"It's not a souvenir, Sergeant," Lennox reminded him. He did a double-take and rounded on the younger soldier to look at him again, and froze. "Prentice...whatever you do, don't...move."

At first, the look the sergeant gave him was of mocking disbelief; he wasn't the type to take everything seriously, and his mind was still on fuzzy stickers. He never noticed the tiny, metal critter clinging to his sleeve, blinking an ominous, yellow-orange light. When he caught a glimpse of it, he jolted backwards with a sharp inhale of breath. "Holy shit!"

"Don't move!" Lennox barked, louder this time. Prentice, partially satisfied that the thing wasn't going to attack him, tried to keep as still as possible as every occupant of the warehouse—Optimus included—followed suit. "We don't know what it is. We don't know where it came from. It might be dangerous."

"You think?" Prentice's voice was strained with pain and his fist tightened. "Major, it's...it's digging into my arm—oh shit, it's got claws or something...and it's vibrating. It feels like Satan's cell phone, sir...aghh, dammit!"

"It doesn't like movement," Lennox half-whispered. Thinking quickly, he backed up and tapped Optimus on the top of his nearest foot. "What the hell is that, big guy? Is that your kind of bug?"

"It is not of Cybertronian origin," replied the Autobot. "If it seeks out movement, then it is likely also attracted to heat. Sergeant, you must calm down."

"Calm down? Calm _down?_" Prentice almost squeaked. "I've got a blinking metal bug sticking its pincers into my flesh! I'm bleeding, man—_you_ calm down!"

"This is going nowhere," the leader of the Autobots observed. Then, without any further warning, he raised an arm whilst forming a long, narrow barrel from moving parts above his hand. A second later, he fired a small missile into the ground dozens of meters away, which consequently exploded in a mid-sized fireball.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" cried Major Lennox, only a moment before Prentice gave a yelp. The scorpion-like machine thrust itself away from his arm, leaving behind a dark red splotch as it skittered madly across the ground and headed towards the place where the explosion had been.

Optimus aimed at the tiny machine, seconds away from destroying it with a well-aimed shot, when it suddenly leapt into the air and self-destructed. The resulting blast and eruption of flame shook the air and knocked four of Lennox's men clear off their feet. It left everyone in a state of shock and disorientation as the massive detonation became a decent sized crater in the ground, surrounded by half-melted Decepticon parts.

As bits and pieces of concrete and metal rained down around his head, Lennox stood up from where he had barricaded himself, staring in mild bewilderment at what could have been Sergeant Prentice, had the device not been diverted in time. "Alright," he said, a little too stupified to form a thought that made much sense. "If anyone...sees any more of those things...run like hell back to the safe zone. That's an order."

Sergeant Prentice, gripping his oozing forearm with his free hand, shook his head and muttered, "Amen."

* * *

-

TBC


	8. Thirteen Hours

**_Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow_**

**_-  
_**

AN: I know it seems Skids is getting more attention than Mudflap, but that's a temporary deck of plot cards. Ironhide's due for some...something...yes...also:

(from Jericho) China: Do not fight. China is your friend. ツ

* * *

_Chapter Eight: Thirteen Hours_

* * *

**October 10****th****, 12:15 am PST  
**

**-  
**

Skids watched as Starscream aimed a violently glowing barrel down in his face, and honestly thought he was going to die.

Then the Decepticon reeled backwards, hissing a Cybertronian spew of curses and trying to throw Mudflap off his back. The red Twin clung to him and punched their enemy in the head with his left fist repeatedly. "Thuprise, thlag brains! Wha' happened to yo' fathse? Lemme fix it fo' you!"

Being only a fraction of Starscream's size, it was impossible for him to do enough damage before his enemy retaliated. He was pitched forward a few seconds later, leaving puncture marks on the Decepticon's armour where he had attached himself. Mudflap clashed with the concrete floor in a spray of white sparks. A heavy, large foot slammed down on him from above, pinning the small Autobot down as Starscream prepared to fire a single round into the back of his head.

His brother couldn't retaliate—he had a tiny human in one arm and a big-ass Decepticon in his way. So he did the first thing that came to his dusty logic circuits. "Alrigh', alrigh', don' shoot! We's gonna cooperate wit' choo, ain't we, Mudflap?"

That was enough to give Starscream pause. His red optics seethed unspoken hatred as he glanced up at his captive's twin. "I don't need your 'cooperation', rodent," he said airily, priming his weapon. "I just need you to squirm as I tear you apart, one circuit at a time."

"But me'n Mudflap can tell you all kinds of stuff," Skids tried, doing what he did best as naturally as he could, being an infiltrator: lie. "Tha's why we wanna be on Megatron's side, y'know?"

"My master does not need useless maggots on his _side_!"

A swift, silvery figure appeared in the hole above Starscream, dug its hands into the crumbling edge and flipped into the warehouse, landing with a scrape on the ground next to his superior. "Wait, Starscream...they may have valuable knowledge that would please Lord Megatron very greatly," the high-pitched, relatively feminine Decepticon said, her crimson eyes flashing over Skids. "Why does he carry one of the organic's offspring?"

"Pay attention, Silverstreak, as I am going to show you what my master wishes of these vermin," Starscream informed his partner, and without warning jaunted his weapons towards the gathering of human militants taking refuge behind the overturned desks in the corner. Three missiles, three explosions, and soon the floor was cluttered with corpses, metal fragments and blood. The Decepticon reverted his attention to his original foe."And now for the tiniest vermin of all..."

But when he turned his arsenal back on Skids, the human girl had vanished. Skids looked as though he had no idea where she had gone. "So how 'bout it, Mister Starscream? Y'know we is good as somethin' if these human pussies grabbed us. We could be yo secret spies or somethin'. We don' look like much, but we's good at spyin'."

Surprisingly, the Decepticon contemplated the offer for a few, brief seconds. If he could have grinned, Starscream would have. "Very well," he hissed. "I shall take _one_ of you to see Lord Megatron, and the other will...die, slowly. I see that you value your life much higher than you do your brother's—a trait which will get you far, rodent."

When Mudflap heard the explosion, he expected to find himself in a billion little pieces when he focused his optics—but even though his head was smushed tot he floor, he managed to spot the Decepticon sister swaying back and forth, blue sparks erupting from holes in her body. A big chuck of her body, an arm and most of her chest cavity had been blown apart. Screaming a horrific, electronic scream, Silverstreak toppled forward and stuck the ground, twitching.

A second explosion ripped her in half, and a third sent metallic parts scattering all over. Terrified, Skids cowered under a raised arm until the fourth detonation shook the air, and everything was still.

For a brief moment.

Then came the wave—a dozen of them, skittering, insect-like critters with blinking lights swarmed over the chunks of concrete and dashed over the open floor towards the gathering of robots. Instinctively, Starscream kicked Mudflap into the nearest wall and turned his guns on them, firing a stream of bullets, which they swerved around, jumping from one spot to another too quickly to become targets. One of them leaped into the air, pincers outstretched as one of the Decepticon's rounds struck it in its belly. The fireball that resulted came with a concussive force that knocked Skids clear off his feet.

Starscream did what his cowardly nature intended him to do—he fled, firing several round mines at the wall near the human corpses. The sheets of metal groaned as the north side of the warehouse collapsed, exposing the dark screen of stars outside. Before the remaining explosives could pounce on him, he transformed and shot through the splintered opening and into the night sky.

"Ho' shit!" snapped Skids, shaking his hand wildly. One of the critters was crawling up his left arm, trying to weasel its way into an open crevice. He slapped it off with his free hand and sprinted as fast as he could to where his brother lay. Mudflap groaned in complaint as his twin grabbed him from behind and hauled him to his feet. "You think this is playtahm? Move yo' aft, dumbaft!"

Skids turned around as his twin transformed, spotting the explosive critters as they sprang to and fro, back and forth, as though unable to get any closer to the robots. Then he saw that the little cookie girl, having abandoned her hiding spot, was now hiding behind his leg. Perplexed, he looked at the exploding bugs, then back at the little girl. They weren't getting closer to them because of the tiny princess? Maybe they couldn't hurt humans, or maybe it was just children. Stupid Decepticons didn't know anything about nothing.

"You...you said a bad word," the little girl accused him, voice hoarse with all her crying. Skids picked her up gently and put her inside Mudflap's back seat, holding it open before his brother could shut it on him.

"Sorry, lil' sista," he said, blinking his optics and wishing there was another human nearby so she had somebody to look after her. "When we get choo home, I promise you can tell on me, a'ight?"

She nodded, looking like a pale little ghost with snot and tears on her face. The green Autobot closed Mudflap's door and transformed into his wheels. He had no idea _how_ to get the human kid back to her parents, but if they had been around the warehouse complex when the fighting started to go down, they probably were going to be pushing daisies the day after.

He followed his twin's red taillights closely as they each made a u-turn and sped back towards the gaping hole in the wall. Crumpled flats of metal bounced out of their way as they crashed through the wreckage and into the warm, southern air. A small army of the exploding devices raced after them, climbing and leaping over each other and various objects to try to catch up to the Autobots—but they never got too close, pushed back by some invisible force that wouldn't let them touch their passenger.

After ten minutes of driving into the open desert, Marileen was fast asleep.

* * *

**October 10th, 12:28 pm PST  
**

**-  
**

"Yes, sir. Well, sir, I'm not sure we can do that right now. I understand, sir, and I appreciate you saying that. Thank you, sir."

Lennox hung up.

Epps sat on the edge of his desk, arms folded across his chest. They were both technically off duty, but the past twelve hours had been too busy to notice trivialities like paid employment or rest. "That was the President?" asked his weapon's specialist, though they both knew the answer.

"They pulled the surveillance footage from the warehouse. It's not good," the major explained, as people swarmed back and forth around them. Their temporary HQ in New Mexico was small and overstaffed. Because it had been months since their last Decepticon sighting, certain people were trying to convince the head of state that their alien enemies were targeting the United States for their involvement with Egypt. Homeland Security was breathing down their necks, hard enough that even the Autobots were feeling it. "It's really not good."

He stood up and left his 'office'—a temporary clerk's desk in the middle of the communications center. Epps followed him as they descended the aluminum staircase down into the main hangar, trying to squeeze through the superfluous bodies and equipment. "Starscream and another unidentified Decepticon had the Twins pinned down, and the Twins made it sound like they wanted to defect from the Autobots. Now we've got a ton of people in Homeland Security thinking they can't be trusted."

"Damn," swore Epps, shaking his head. "Isn't that their specialty? The two brothers are infiltrators, aren't they?"

"Things like that only matter to guys like us, Sergeant," Lennox replied as they crossed into the open lot outside. "You, me, the Autobots and only a few others actually believe they're innocent. That's not our biggest problem, though."

"Yeah, you're telling me."

They had skirmishes with three more of the small, explosive robots that had nearly cost Prentice his life. By the time Lennox had his people withdrawn from the warehouse, six men were injured and Ironhide had one explode just yard away from his left foot. It hadn't damaged him extensively, just enough that he had to be transported back to base in his native form. Public relations be damned, if he'd lost a _single_ man out there, he would have raised hell.

"Major Lennox, wait up! Sir, you need to take this," said a voice from behind them. A lieutenant came jogging out of the hangar and into the sunlight, holding a phone in his outstretched hand. "It's the babysitter, sir."

'Babysitter' was the codename for the Autobots' kidnappers. Since they weren't supposed to be getting directly involved with the mission to recover them, Lennox had set up a very small network of people he trusted most to keep him informed of these things. Luckily, almost every single communications officer under NEST command would have done anything to help out their Autobot allies, a tribute to just how things worked in their team when politics weren't involved.

Lennox took the phone and nodded to the lieutenant, putting the receiver to his ear. "This is Major Lennox."

"_How are you enjoying your afternoon, Major?"_

The NEST commander stood in the middle of the brightly lit paved lot and squinted his eyes, trying to reign in the aggravation he felt for this cocky bastard. "I was actually going to lunch when you called. Thanks for asking. What the hell do you want?"

"_The same thing as before. Our offer has not changed, Major. You should know by now how serious my employer is."_

"Oh, really? Because I think I just found out where his secret hideout was, and we know that you don't have the twins anymore. Give me one good reason I shouldn't hang up on you and make myself a sandwich."

"_The accident was unfortunate, yes. Many of my people were killed by the machines that attacked the holding center. But you should know that we have recaptured your allies. Simply convince your government to do as we instructed, and everybody wins."_

Disbelief and bitter ire tightened the major's grip on the phone. "Bull. You don't have anything. If you did, you would have shown us proof by now, and I haven't received a damn thing."

"_I am sorry to hear about your people who were injured by the 16-RDs. They are a vicious breed of robotic warfare, are they not? After all, the best way to capture a machine, is to use a better machine."_

"You son of a bitch," Lennox almost growled. "You almost killed my men out there. This isn't war. This is a deliberate act of terrorism against the United States of America; you're now looking at three major federal crimes, one of which gives me permission to _shoot_ you on sight, no questions asked."

"_Come now. It will never come to that. Though I am afraid the aliens in my custody are indisposed right now, you will get your proof within the hour. Remember, Major: thirteen hours."_

The static 'click' on the other end of the line killed their conversation. The major held onto the receiver for a moment before thrusting it back toward the lieutenant holding the phone. He saw Epps' confused face and swiftly turned around to head back into the communications hangar.

"What's going on, Major?"

"We can forget about lunch, that's what," said Lennox. It didn't matter if the kidnappers' mercs had the twins or not—the fact that they made that second phone call meant that this wasn't over. There was someone out there supplying these bastards with high-grade explosives and technology, and he didn't plan on taking off his boots until he figured out who that someone was.

* * *

-

**October 10th, 12:45 pm** **PST**

Simmons unfolded the map and slapped it down on the hood of the yellow Camaro. He hated laptops. Laptops could be traced, whereas maps were solid, reliable, one hundred percent recyclable paper. They didn't need batteries and worked just as well indoors as they did outdoors. That said, he had no idea where they were headed. It was almost noon on the side of the low traffic highway, without a clue as to their next move.

Samuel Witwicky got out of the car and circled around to approach him. "At least tell me where we're supposed to be going. What did Major Lennox say on the phone just now?"

"Well, I've got good news and bad news," said the ex-agent of the officially non-existent Sector Seven. "The bad news is, there was a Decepticon attack in Arizona where they think Red and Green were being kept prisoner. The bad news is, lots of people died during the attack. The bad news is, the United States military has _no idea_ where the twin toddlers are, so we're on our own."

"And the good news? If you say you saved a lot of money on your car insurance, I'm taking Bee and Mikaela straight back to campus."

Simmons looked up from the map with a slightly creased brow. "The goods news is, you've got me to take care of you. We stick with the plan; go to Arizona, and track down Larry and Curly before a lot of bad stuff can happen."

Leaning over on Bee's roof and putting his head on his arms, Sam said, "What kind of bad stuff, Simmons?

"Best case scenario, Galloway's privately sanctioned team locates them before all palooza breaks loose. They go back to Diego Garcia, we go home, bam. We're done. Since our friends the military think the director _wants_ the 'alien threat' to be exposed to the world so he can have an excuse to kick them off the planet, I've got my doubts that their so-called 'team' even exists. Which brings us to the worst case scenario: Evil Kidnappers X gets their hands on the twins again, and we're back to square one."

"I thought the worse case scenario would be if the Autobots were exposed to the public," observed the college student doubtfully.

Placing his wallet on top of the map to keep it from blowing away, Simmons turned to the kid and took a few steps closer. "If they get caught, they _will_ be exposed," he said, as if talking to a small child. "That's before or after they end up dead, unless we find them before they do. How badly do you wanna explain that to Optimus Prime, huh? After allll that trust he's placed in you, Sammy boy. Wonder how that'd feel if it just—pfft!" He made a poofing gesture with his fingers, staring hard into Witwicky's eyes.

Sam glared at the older man and stood up, before rigidly opening the driver side door again. "I'm going in five minutes. You can look at your stupid map in the car," he said, before climbing into Bee's front seat.

"_We're made of tougher stuff and...we'll take whatever they throw at us, won't we, Cap'n?"_ Came a spliced and patched jumble of radio transmissions over Bee's speakers. Sam sighed.

"He's right, you know," Mikaela observed from the back seat, leaning forward so that he face was next to his. "This isn't about you, Sam. They need our help, and we owe them a _lot_ more than one day searching for two of their missing friends."

"I'm not talking about this," he said, putting his hands on the wheel and trying not to squeeze too tight. After a few, tense seconds, he added, "Look, I don't even care about school right now. I just...I have a bad feeling about this, alright? And I'm sick of being treated like a little kid by a guy who lives in his mother's basement!"

"Hey, how 'bout you two lovebirds go back to the room and work it out already?" snapped the third occupant of the Autobot vehicle, who had been tugging ineffectually at the seatbelt Mikaela had more or less shackled him inside. Bumblebee wasn't letting him unbuckle it.

Sam turned his head to glare at Wheelie, then looked his girlfriend in the eyes meaningfully. "Did you _have_ to bring him?"

She sighed and pushed herself back against the rear seat. Then she proceeded to give him the silent treatment. Sam forced himself to look ahead through Bee's windshield, just in time to see Simmons snap his cell phone closed and gather his map in a half-crumpled bundle. The deadpan look on his face as he pulled open the passenger door and climbed in made Sam slightly worried. "What's going on?"

"Worst case scenario, Witwicky. Square one. By the time we drive there, it'll be too late. We gotta find another way."

"Wait, what? You're _serious_? What...how much time does that give us?"

Simmons looked at his watch and leaned his head against the head rest. "Less than thirteen hours."

* * *

-

CBT


	9. Next

_**Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow**_

_**---**_

AN: ˙əʇıɹʍ oʇ ʎʇılıqɐ ʎɯ pəʇɔəɟɟɐ sɐɥ nlɟ əɥʇ ƃuıʌɐɥ ʎlpɐq ʍoɥ səʇɐɔıpuı əɔuəʇuəs sıɥʇ ʞuıɥʇ ı

Some of you might laugh at my choice for Skid's hologram. Some of you might not. I like nanimo bars. Sorry about being so slow this time.

* * *

_Chapter Nine: Next_

_

* * *

-  
_

**October 10th, 2:08 pm PST**

"I think we can all agree that this meeting is long overdue," Major Lennox said to the Autobots in front of him. It was hard being back at base, knowing what they did, which wasn't much. No one but himself, Epps, Optimus and Ironhide knew about this impromptu gathering of minds, because the more people who knew, the bigger the chance Galloway would find out that they were involved in the insanity that would soon follow. "It's not often I get to say this, so here it goes. Sergeant Epps came up with a plan that might let us keep three for three: the Twins, our secrecy and our jobs. Or, in the case of you Autobots, the luxury of getting to stay on Earth without worrying about getting nuked."

"You have a way with words, you know that?" Epps asked him, sitting on the edge of a metal table nearby.

"This plan no doubt involves Bumblebee and Sam," said Optimus.

"It does," Epps agreed, trying to sound casual. "It does, and...it doesn't."

"This is what we know. Some old friends in global surveillance say the twins' captors are a small mercenary band led by a man named Manaar Rachoor," Lennox explained. "They're pretty famous in southeast India, and they were the ones who infiltrated the NEST training operation. Now we _assume_ that the man we've been in contact with is Rachoor himself, and that he's aware of our situation with the chain of command, or else he wouldn't be calling me personally every time he gives us an update."

"We still do not know how the Decepticons knew about the situation with the Twins," Optimus pointed out, but there was no accusation attached to the statement. "They attacked the facility within a single day of their capture. They must have a source of information within Rachoor's network." His conversation with Ironhide the previous day need not be mentioned. He would not possibly believe his weapons' specialist could go behind his back, not when the consequences were so evident.

"Hmph. Mercenaries," Ironhide said with evident disdain. "On Cybertron, the easiest way to deal with mercenaries was to blow them up, whether from orbit or with tactical electron-disperser explosives."

"I feel you," said Epps, shaking his head as he slid off the table and onto the floor. "These aren't just mercs, though. They're ghosts. Unless they feel threatened, they'll stay right where they are until the clock ticks down to none."

"I find it a strange choice for a deadline," said Optimus. "Our enemies' motives seem to be bent on a worldwide revolution, though their means to accomplish this are extremely unorthodox."

Lennox gave it a moment of thought, and kicked himself mentally for not realizing that sooner. "PST. Pacific Standard Time. What if this whole 'uncovering the truth' thing is a front for some other motive? Come to think of it, who the hell would benefit the most from capturing two live aliens and broadcasting it to the public?"

"That, I have an answer to, Major," said a voice from the hangar doors. Lennox and Epps turned in surprise to see a lately returned Dr. Madrick, loosening his tie as he strolled towards them. He was unaccompanied. "Sorry, I don't mean to butt in, but I've been meaning to contact you about my hunch, Major Lennox, for the past twelve hours."

He must have seen the look on the NEST commander's face, because the Autobot-human technology liaison chuckled gruffly and leaned against the table. There were bags under his eyes and his balding hair was matted down by sweat. "Back in 2001, the nine eleven tragedy and the birth of the Bush administration's 'War on Terrorism' boosted sales in technology industries through sales of military contracts, and top-notch networking equipment such as cell phones and ISP manufacturing...as boring as that seems, it's all very, very relevant to our situation now. When something this...ah, gigantic happens to our planet, our response it to fight ignorance with the act of, ah...sharing information. When the media thrives, the industries that leech from it also profit by an outrageous margin. What America will see when a couple of alien robots show up on satellite television, is a threat so technologically advanced, our WiFi will seem like smoke signals in comparison. Nobody wants to be left in the dark when there's an armada of giant robots on your country's doorstep."

"Dr. Madrick, I had no idea you were coming to base on such short notice," said Lennox. "I thought they were sending you straight back to Diego Garcia."

"UnityTech," coughed the scientist, ignoring the question and thumbing something from his pocket—an iPod, apparently. He held it up in one hand. "They're one of the main manufacturers of these things. Six months ago, one of their biggest moneymakers went out of business, when two of their key satellites were knocked out of orbit by what they thought were meteors. Would anyone care to guess what happens tomorrow morning around one oh four A.M. Pacific Standard Time?"

Lennox couldn't guess, and neither could the Autobots. For one, he wasn't exactly the best man to stay updated with the current events outside of military business, not when he was in charge of every single anti-Decepticon movement on the planet. Even Epps looked put off by the question; it was as though someone had dropped the answer book to today's exam in the middle of the metaphorical classroom, and they were strapped to their chairs.

"UnityTech's new satellite network goes live. At that time, the satellites in orbit will be in the optimum position to broadcast through almost every channel, to every television set in the U.S. at the same time. There's only one way to wake up America in the dead of night, and that's with a carefully calculated display of stone age justice."

Epps' jaw dropped open; that was exactly how Will felt at that moment, but he tightened his hands instead. When he was around Optimus, he always felt it was necessary to keep his composure. Still, to think that all of their current problems were because a billionaire with a gold-plated swimming pool wanted ratings, it was a blow to faith in humanity. "You've done your research, Doc," he said, crossing his arms. "I just hope you're right. It's bad enough we're planning on going against a direct order from the president, just image how bad we'd look if it turned out we were wrong."

"What is this plan of yours?" asked Ironhide, always the skeptic.

That seemed to refocus everyone's attention on their rapidly shrinking daylight and the deadline looming ahead. Epps cleared his throat. "Well like I said, it's sort of involving the Witwicky kid and Simmons, but mostly, it's about a little robot with a big, smartass mouth."

* * *

-

**October 10****th****, 2:55 pm PST**

"Why am I the only one who thinks this plan is ridiculous?"

Sam couldn't believe they were doing this. Less than twenty minutes ago, Lennox's people called Simmons and told them what they were going to do. No longer were they trying to find out who captured the Twins; no, they had instead flown all the way across the country so that Wheelie could make a little Decepticon blip and start a chain of events that might get them all killed. Or arrested. Or arrested, and then killed.

"Ask not what your country can do for you," said Simmons, half-smirking as he stared out at the cliff in front of them. His eyes were unreadable, hidden as they were behind extremely dark tinted sunglasses. "Ask what you can do for the aliens that your country is trying to hide from its tax-paying citizens"

"It's a good plan, Sam," Mikaela voiced, standing on the other side of her boyfriend. "I know, and you know that Bee's great, but he can't do this alone. We need Major Lennox and the Autobots, especially if these guys are really as bad as people say they are."

"Which is great, until they figure out that the little Decepticon that you and I vouched for was behind it. I'm not saying it won't work. I'm only saying it's very, very stupid."

"Tax-paying citizens, yep," former agent Simmons repeated, looking wistfully out at the gorge in front of them.

Sam turned his head to shoot an appraising look at the older man. "Why do I get the feeling you _want_ the whole world to find out about the Transformers?"

"It's not about what I want, kid," came the sigh and reply. Simmons tilted his fae downwards. "It's about how and when. If these whacko's are gonna line Huey and Dooey up and _fzzzt_, execution style and start a world revolution, then no, that's not what I want. But eventually, the truth has to be revealed to the throngs before the throngs make mincemeat out of your testicles."

So yeah, Sam wished he hadn't asked. Sighing plaintively, he took a step back and opened Bee's backseat door. A small, blue former Decepticon drone hopped out onto the dusty ground and prodded Sam's shin. "It's hot as slag in there, and Banana Boat Autobot won't cool it down," Wheelie complained, sauntering over to where his Warrior Goddess stood. "Okay, so whaddaya want me to do? Anything I say to Soundwave is just gonna piss 'em off, ya know? What if they come after me?"

"That's what we're here for," Mikaela tried to assure him. "Bumblebee's not going to let the Decepticons lay their big, ugly fingers on you, are you Bee?"

Sam's car made a sort of descending grunt that sounded like an unwilling affirmation.

"All right, but just remember, you promised," said the salvage drone, and he lifted a spindly hand into the air. A single, narrow beam of green light emitted from his fingertip and upwards intot he sky. Three seconds later, it shut off. "There we go, one pointless transmission of complete gibberish delivered into the atmosphere. Can I stay out of the box now?"

The three humans on the edge of the gorge exhanged glances, before Simmons rolled his shoulders back and adjusted his watch. "That was very anti-climactic. I'm disappointed in you, Wheelie. I vote for the box," he said, climbing into the passenger side of the yellow Camaro. The other soons followed suit, and despite that Mikaela was outvoted three to one, Wheelie was finally allowed to ride in the backseat without a seatbelt.

* * *

-

**October 10th, 1:02 am PST**

Skids and Mudflap peeled out onto the highway, kicking up a moonlit cloud of dust, which was quickly swallowed in the near pitch black atmosphere. Suddenly, the green Twin swerved into the middle of the road, and rolled heavily across the paved stretch as he transformed into his bipedal form. He skidded to a halt and picked himself up while charging his arm rifle. He clumsily fired off a volley of barely aimed rounds into the darkness, punching holes in the pavement and loose dirt. The sound of dozens of tiny mechanical legs and the flashing of the Insecto-bombs (the name he thought up about five minutes into the chase) scattered for just a brief moment.

"C'mon! How long—" he complained, firing two mored rounds, "—are yous gonna—" Blam, blam, "—keep chasin' us—" Blam, ping! A small explosion confirmed an actual hit. "—I ain't cho momma! Go find yoselves a lil' robot orphanage!"

Two more lucky shots took care of the remaining Insecto-bombs. Skids blinked and scanned for something other than smoke and heated rock, but found nothing. Training back on Cybertron hadn't been this hard, and back then it was crawling with Decepticons. When they rendevoused, he was going to make Optimus give them all a medal, the teensy weensy human included.

Skids barreled forward across the paved road and transformed, his wheels hitting the ground at top speed. He and his brother struck out down the stretch of empty road like bats out of Hell, sharing the same fear that the Decepticons—namely Starscream—had been tracking them. They couldn't think of a safe place to go, nor could they send out an emergency signal, not with enemies all around. Plus they had to find a place to put the little girl down safely.

Man, how did Optimus handle stuff like this?

_How's the teeny tiny human doing, bro?_ Skids relayed to Mudflap. There was no way to talk with style using their transmitters, because Cybertronian was a hell of a boring language.

_Hasn't gone and lubricated on me yet,_ came the reply, and though their link didn't betray the same emotion as an outspoken jibe would have, he was obviously unhappy. _That's a good sign, ain't it? If you're so attached to her, why ain't you being her chauffeur?_

_ Just shut up and drive, stupid_, the green Twin shot back. Neither one of them realized that they had accelerated way beyond the human speed limit. It was dark and the road was so empty, who'd have though there would be somebody following them that _wasn't_ a psycho killer robot on the loose?

Skids noticed the other vehicle behind him about ten seconds after stopped talking, and it wasn't that hard. It was flashing red and blue lights like a police car. Oh, damn—that _was_ a police car. They were being pulled over by the cops now? What else was gonna come after them, a T-Rex?

_We can go a lot faster than a stupid cop_, Mudflap remind him. Yeah, it was tempting. But what about the little princess?

There wasn't a lot of time to think it over. Almost painstakingly, Skids slowed down and rolled over to the gravelly side of the highway, right behind his twin's bumper. As the driver side door of the cop car swung open, the green Twin started to wonder why he hadn't thought of a good hologram for his own driver's seat. There were so many damn humans to choose from and they were all so ugly-looking. He tried to remember what some of the soldiers looked like back home, but his memory wasn't so good, either.

Oh, man, he was so screwed. The cop was coming straight at him now, one of those lazy-boy cops with a belly hanging over his belt and some fuzz on rosy-cheeked face. But there was definitely _not_ something jolly about the way he was walking. Desperately, the green Autobot randomly selected the first human avatar that popped into his processors and projected it into the front left seat of his divine interior, seconds before his new cop friend shone a flashlight inside. The man in uniform tapped on the glass, and Skids rolled down his window.

"Is there a problem, office-sir?" Skids asked, trying his best to manipulate his hologram to mouth the words. This was hard.

If the policeman had a problem with that, he didn't mention it. "I need your license and registration, please," he said gruffly, flickering the beam of the flashlight in the eyes of the hologram. He frowned when the light seemed to pass right through the young latino man's face. Deciding to chalk it off as being overtired, he put a hand on the car door and leaned over. "Have you been drinking, sir?"

"Uhhh..." The Autobot was utterly stumped. "Was I s'posed to?"

The cop stared at him blankly. The badge on his shirt read 'Officer Perry'. "License and registration."

"Y'know, I must've left dose back at th' orphanage. Dayum," Skids said, nodding his hologram's head. "Y'see, this is my brotha's car. It's a rental."

Officer Perry narrowed his eyes. "Your brother's car is a rental," he repeated slowly. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car."

Oh, shit. "Uh, ahm sorry, bu' I, uh..." What would Ratchet say right now? "My legs are broke. I'm goin' to the hospital righ' now, me an' my lil' sister."

From then on, the conflict was inevitable. The officer took a step back from the door and put his hand on his holster. "Step out of the car please, sir. I won't ask you again."

The cop car exploded.

A fireball lit up the highway, united with the shredded metal remains of the cruiser as the hood went flipping end over end into the darkness. Officer Perry yelled as he ducked against the side of bright green car,only just keeping his balance after the shockwave hit. The human policeman was wheezing in the fallout of the explosion. "Sweet lord, what the hell?" he screamed.

Skids already knew what was coming when his overly sensitive audio receptors picked up the clickity-clicks of the Insecto-bombs coming their way. Right about then, he had two options. One, he could just drive away and let Donut-Crammer Happy Hero get creamed by a bunch of foot-long exploding centipede,s or he could save his sorry ass and break the number one rule in the Autobot handbook. Yeah, option two would probably get his skidplate a good kicking by Ironhide or Ratchet, but option one guaranteed he and his brother would get eaten alive by Optimus Prime himself.

In the back of his processor, he had to think. _Damn, _those little bombs could motor it. They just didn't know when to quit chasing the wrong people!

He made his decision in exactly 0.83 seconds.

The green Autobot slammed a fist into the ground the very moment he began to transform, hauling his weight up into the air and spinning around as his parts rearranged themselves into his two-legged, ass-kicking mode. Still arcing through the air, he swung his legs down and pushed off the ground, landing solidly on two feet, weapons primed and ready. "Get'cho butt down, tubby! I ain't here to play cops an' robbers!"

Hoping he wouldn't mess up completely, Skids shoved one leg back and dug his foot into the gravel, bracing himself for a move he'd made up after watching the Star Wars movies. He'd already figured out that these things didn't explode so big when you smacked them around. All he had to do was keep them from finding something to explode.

With about four or five blinking death-bugs coming his way out of the open desert, he launched the grappling hook from his right arm and swung it high over it head. After circling it a few times, he arched the hook down and swept along the ground. It was like fishing for Insecto-bombs, 'cause a second later he felt two of the flickering monsters _ping_ off his chain and go boom. What he didn't know was that the last two Insecto-bombs would dodge his super-killa moves and try to blow up their brothers' explosions.

Two massive eruptions knocked Skids right off his feet, turning one-eighty degrees in the air and bouncing off the pavement, almost crushing Mr. Officer Perry in the process. Groaning, the Autobot pushed up from the ground, scraping his face on the paved surface and shook his head. With a screeching, clattering sound, the chain on his right arm recoiled—minus the grappling hook, of course. He rattled his now hand-less right arm and wavered to his feet, teetering back and forth. "Motha glitch, I ain't _doin'_ this no more! Mudflap, let the girl out of yo back seat; it's your turn to get'cho aft-kickin'!"

His twin brother didn't reply right away. Probably because the skittering sound of three, maybe four more Insecto-bombs were headed their way. "Awwww," Skids almost sobbed, shoulders drooping. "Somebody help da robot in dis crazy son of a bi--"

The final word of that sentence was cut off by his rapid transformation back into his vehicular mode. He shot open his driver door and honked his horn as loudly as he could. "Hey, po-lice officer! Get in, you an' yo dumb-aft flashlight! You can stay if you wanna die."

Apparently, Officer Perry had an instinct for survival, because he half-stumbled over to the Twin's door and climbed inside, almost losing a finger when Skids slammed it shut after him. He then proceeded to go from zero to seventy in seven seconds, speeding even fast as Mudflap fell in behind him. This time, neither of the Twins had any intention of even slowing down until their mindlessly destructive pursuers were _way_ out of range. As in, maybe-Australia-out-of-range.

_If we keep picking up all these humans on the way, mebbe we can start our own Speed movie,_ Mudflap transmitted to him.

Skids wanted to smack him, but his hands—hand—wasn't available for comment. The cop in his front seat was blubbering and asking a hundred and ten questions, making it hard to think of what they were gonna do next.

If the Insecto-bombs gave them a chance to do 'next'.

* * *

-

TBC


	10. Alone

_**Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow**_

_**---  
**_

AN: Yes, there's quite a bit of time jumping from here on. It will add up eventually. I tend to tell the story backwards, from the latest chain of events to the earliest, just to screw with you all.

* * *

_Chapter Ten: Alone_

_

* * *

-  
_

_**October 10**__**th**__**, 6:12 pm PST**_

"This wasn't part of the plan," said Sergeant Epps. He and Ironhide had been sitting in the hot sun for thirty minutes, and the fact that it was getting close to seven thirty in their time zone didn't cool them down much. His statement had unduly followed a long period of silence and contemplation. That's right; from here on, it was all up to him and the big, black Autobot.

"_A savage, yet political move on your government's part,_" Ironhide agreed. Epps was inside his cab, arm draped through the window. "_If it had been up to me, I would have refused to leave Optimus behind for this mission._ _Clearly, we underestimated the shrewdness of your civilian commanders_."

"Yeah, well, that's politics," Epps replied with no reservation. "They move, we move, they move...big-ass circle of completely unnecessary ugliness. So how far away is Ratchet now?"

"_Far enough. He never was a remarkable liar. Let us hope he spins a convincing tale of how we became separated."_

"From now on, it don't matter. I think they're taking too much advantage of you guys playin' nice and following their orders. Whether they believe us or not, when we get back to base with the Twins, they're gonna look like indecent and ungrateful bastards if they start complaining." Epps looked out Ironhide's window and squinted, before slowly shaking his head. "Man, I just hope we don't run into any real Decepticons. I don't have nearly enough guns for that kind of thing."

The sergeant practically felt the Autobot grunt when his voice came through the speakers. "_Then it is fortunate that I have an ample supply of my own weaponry."_

"Yeah, yeah...don't remind me," muttered Epps, recalling the handful of times he'd shown the black Autobot some modified grenade launchers and other bad-ass human weapons he _used_ to think were impressive. Ever single time, Ironhide had politely complimented him on the quality of his 'toys'. Especially that last one. Most of his 'toys' could cut a man in half with half a dozen rounds, but did that matter to a twenty-foot tall walking armory? No, sir.

"_I am not entirely convinced the Decepticons and the human mercenaries we are searching for are not related,_" Ironhide went on to say with an undertone of extreme dislike. His hatred for the Transformer enemies was a button easily pressed. "_We are dealing with more than one adversary. As unlikely as it seems that Megatron would ever associate with humans, we know that Starscream is at least capable of forging temporary alliances."_

Epps leaned his head out of the Autobot's window and sniffed the air, thinking for a moment that he could smell jet fuel. It wasn't one of things on the strange list of smells to expect while in the presence of Transformers. "Ah, yeah, I suppose," he answered slowly before drawing his attention to the cab again. "But why would they have any interest in UnityTech or their messed up agenda? There're way easier ways to kill an Autobot." The moment he said it, his brain did a crippling wince. "Shit. Sorry, that came out wrong."

"_It's an accurate observation. Worthy of considering when dealing with the motives of Decepticons."_

Long, long ago, Epps had to deal with a hard-core corporal who left a private behind in Iraq while fleeing an ambush. They had put him under his command at Los Alimatos, and the man had lasted a week. That was some serious counseling to fix a broken soldier like that. Problem was, his corporal just had too big a heart to let the situation go; when shit happened, it wasn't just any one's fault. He had no idea how it was with Autobots, but Ironhide's general moodiness where the Twins were concerned suggested he might be feeling bad about failing to prevent their capture. It was too bad. No one could tell him otherwise, at least not until they performed the rescue and stopped a world-wide revolution from happening.

It was about time to leave. He tapped the steering wheel in front of him. "We should head to town now," he said. "Start asking questions. That Manaar guy has to be somewhere in the state with his merc buddies, and we've got less than seven hours to make this work."

Ironhide revved his engine, stirring up a large cloud of Arizona dust as he pulled away from the middle of the desert and started towards the nearest paved road. The nearest town to the old wrecked facility was Dudleyville, and if these Rachoor guys really were as ghostly as their reputation let on, then God help them find a single clue about their whereabouts before the sun went down.

* * *

-

**October 10th, 8:14 am PST**

If Cheilwender could forgive everything else these aliens had done to America, he could not forgive _this_. Kidnapping his granddaughter. Blowing up their containment facility. Killing his guards! They had Marileen. His sweet, innocent Marileen Elizabeth.

His good-for-nothing son should never have become involved. Bringing a child like that to the specialty components factory while he was in charge of monitoring the aliens' captivity, it was ludicrous. He didn't care if his daughter-in-law was halfway across the country, the whole matter could have been avoided if his cheap son had only just hired a babysitter. That, or kept his nose out of his father's business instead of begging for a treat like a wounded puppy.

Now Cheilwender stood in front of his office window, trying to piece together a new solution before his time ran out. UnityVision would go up tomorrow morning just after midnight, and now that the aliens had escaped his idiot contract's custody, he had nothing to broadcast. He should never have made that part of the ransom agreement—of course the 'safe' return of the alien machines had never been his intention. Giving the military a deadline had been a far worse idea. An idea, in fact, that had been concocted by the same personal assistant he threatened to fire not two days ago! The same assistant that was standing in front of his desk, probably deciding on whether or not he should risk speaking and losing his job.

"I know you're probably very sorry for all this, Phil," Cheilwender growled, turning around slowly. "But being sorry does not bring back Marileen. If I could afford it, I would have fired you by now. The government probably already knows I'm behind everything, and if I don't have those _God damned_ robots by one o'clock tomorrow morning with _bombs_ strapped to their heads, it will have been for nothing! How could you let this go so, completely _bad_?"

"The arrival of the other aliens wasn't predicted, Mr. Cheilwender, I swear," his assistant meekly tried to defend himself. "Neither was the release of the 16-RDs. Those are just prototypes; they weren't meant for actual security detail until our engineers worked out the bugs."

"Is that supposed to be a joke? Because you don't humour me at all," grunted the CEO of UnityTech, practically snarling. "The military is crawling all over the facility. They have names, faces—_my_ face, to be exact. By God, unless I have something to show on my satellites by tomorrow morning that will break this government in twain, I'll be spending the rest of my natural life in prison!"

"Sir, as I promised, every single shred of evidence will point to me, not you," Phil tried to assure him, pushing up his glasses with a nervous finger. "If we don't—I mean we _will_ get them back, I have Rachoor working on it right away, but in the unlikely event that we don't, this will all look like a disgruntled employee conspiracy. It will work, I am _positive_ about it."

Now Cheilwender sighed and sat down in his office chair, but not before pinching the bridge of his nose. "I am too tired to even think about how much I hate you right now, Phil. Go, do whatever has to be done. If this company gets eaten by those bureaucratic sharks, it's on your head and yours alone. Get me those aliens back. Today. Out of my sight."

Phil left the office as quickly as he came, almost knocking over one of Mr. Cheilwender's secretaries. He did not stop to apologize or check to make sure she was okay. With a stiff gait, he traveled down the broad hallway and into the open elevator, shutting the door before anyone else could join him.

It was a tedious and lengthy trip from the fifty-fifth floor to the main level. It scarcely concerned him. James Cheilwender's plans—the ones he had made for the fool—were going horribly wrong, of course. That only meant that his plans, and those of his master were going right. He could care less about the old mans' threats or raving language. There was absolutely nothing frightening about that. But his real master?

Oh, what a disturbing thought. If he ever failed Megatron, Phil would have plenty more to lose than just his job.

* * *

-

**October 10****th****, 1:57 am PST**

Skids' passenger went through three stages of panic. First, he began to scream and didn't stop screaming for almost a minute. The Autobot had to turn down his audio receptors until the cop man couldn't make any more noise. Then he started squirming and freaking out, trying all sorts of things to gain control of the vehicle he was in. Of course, Skids wasn't going to let anyone tell him where to drive while they were being chasing by killer bombs. And finally, when Officer Perry finally realized he couldn't use the gas or steering wheel, nor could he escape, he settled down and started asking questions.

"_Ahm gonna make this easy fo' you, extra crunchy,_" the green Twin said, adjusting his imitation speakers so that the ones closest to the police officer were the loudest. "_This ain't no joy ride. Ahm not no demon car, that car tha's in front of me is ma brotha, an' if you even try poppin' a cap that part you think is my transmission, skip it. Tha's a danger idea."_

Which was obviously Perry's next plan. It could have taken some serious willpower for the cop to put his gun away, so Skids gave him his props. "What...what happened back there? What are you? A military secret, a...a weapon of some kind? Geebus, Arnold, what have you gotten yourself into..."

"_No, and no,"_ Skids answered shortly. "_We're da Twins. Tha's all your pink ass gots to know. _

"_Nah, nah, an' don' choo foget it,"_ Mudflap's voice came over the same frequency. "_I hath to wonder, bro, which of usth hath the baby, me or you? An' by the way, mine hath to use thomethin' called 'the potty'."_

_ "_What?" Officer Perry scrunched his eyebrows. "What's that mean? Who was that?"

"_Shut up, man, I'm tryin' ta deal with an emergency," _said Skids. "_This calls for drastic action. We's gotta stop at the next place with a bathroom fo' the lil' princess. An' maybe the Monopoly guy here can make us a phone call so we can get our afts rescued."_

"I must be dreaming," the cop half-whispered. "No, no it's too real. One of you had better tell me what the hell happened to my cruiser back there, or I'm calling dispatch right now and--"

"_An' what, Officer Puthsy? Get cho pothies to pull usth over again? Nah ah, we'th taking charge now, ain't we, Thskidth?"_

_ "Tha's right, bro. Now be a good sissy cop an' sit still an' shut yo mouth."_

No sooner had the green Autobot made the order than his sensors went wild. There wasn't enough time to react to the sudden presence above them; he could only watch as a very large harpoon-like dart came plummeting out of the sky and skewered his twin brother through the roof. With a crunch and squeal of metal, the hooks latched on, and the looming shape, a helicopter of some sort in the sky began to lift Mudflap and his occupant into the air with his wheels spinning.

Skids slammed on the brakes and swerved to the side, forcefully ejecting the police officer from his front seat and onto the road. It took him three seconds too long to fully transform and start shooting at the enemy aircraft. Damn, man, Mudflap could've transformed and taken it out by now if it weren't for the little girl in his backseat. And there was no way the teeny tiny human was going to jump out now. They were good and screwed.

Fruitlessly, the green Twin fired again and again at the almost silent silhouette of the helicopter, but his shells just sparked or bounced off like they were snowflakes. Then he saw the symbol. The _Decepticon_ symbol. It was stamped right on the aft-end of the black whatchamacallit thing that was towing his brother away like a sack of potatoes. Skids continued to shoot at it until it was gone from sight and sensors, and all he had left was a faint prickling in his sub-processors that held his Spark's natural link to his twin's true and strong. For now.

He sagged, the whining down of his arm rifle reflecting the sinking feeling in all of his circuits. That was it. Mudflap was gone. The Decepticons had him--him and that little girl who brought them cookies.

His brother was really, really gone.

Despite having spending all those years on Cybertron while it was infested by Decepticon bad guys, Skids had never felt so incredibly alone.

* * *

-

TBC


	11. Too Late

_**Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow**_

_**---  
**_

AN: Because Ouchimoo is fun to confuse: Just screw you all.

In a happy way! But purely platonic, I swear. So first off, sorry about the slow updates. And upon realizing I chose 'drama' as a genre for this story, I've decided to add some. More. It's been not so dramatic. Not like my oldies. What are oldies? I don't know.

Cliffhangers.

-

* * *

_Chapter Eleven: Too Late  
_

* * *

-

**October 10****th****, 3:30 pm PST**

Normally, Major Lennox would have to go through a checklist of routine ordinances to take care of at this time of day, especially he was back at NEST headquarters on the Diego Garcia atoll. Here at their temp base of operations, under strict grounding guidelines set out by the Joint Chiefs of Staff in the unusually sweltering heat of early autumn, he was getting downright bored. Bored waiting for someone to deliver him news. Good or bad—it didn't matter. In less than an hour, he was going to deploy the Autobots and Epps special team to 'investigate' the Decepticon signal he had faked via their friendly turncoat salvage drone, and during that operation Epps and Ironhide were going to 'get separated' somehow.

Makeshift orders for a crappy day. True, he had done crazier things that also smelled of hot, sweaty court martials, and he had scraped through them all. This somehow felt bigger than all that. Yes, even bigger than the possible destruction of the solar system a little earlier in the year. Politics and worldwide panic mixed about as well as red and white wine.

As expected, Dr. Madrick had been forced to give Director Galloway's men the same information about UnityTech that he gave Lennox's team, but the good news was, Will knew _before_ Galloway. It gave him just enough time to plan ahead, because he had a feeling he knew what Galloway's advice to the president would be and it turned out to be true: destroy the UnityTech satellites in orbit.

Which, as it turns out, was extremely expensive to do. And it would take time. Probably too much time, and even if it did prevent the broadcast, it wouldn't get the Twins back..

It hardly surprised him that Galloway's solution didn't involve rescuing the Twins. Just as he predicted, their self-proclaimed genius liaison had convinced the Secretary of Defense that the two Autobots were planning to betray their secrets to the Decepticons based on the audio and video footage from UnityTech's facility warehouse. The duo's personalities didn't help much under the scrutinizing eye of the government.

Lennox never thought he'd live to see the day where he wished the President of the United States had met Skids and Mudflap. If he had _any_ idea of what those two were like, he wouldn't be able to take them seriously enough to believe Galloway's barefaced discrimination. Yes, the Twins were, for the lack of a more compassionate word, complete idiots. But they _were_ smart enough to know that Megatron would rip them both apart the moment Starscream delivered. Decepticons weren't known for their compassion and tolerance, which was everything that Optimus Prime _was_.

Optimus was an incredible guy. For all their flaws, the big guy obviously cared about the Twins and wanted them back in one piece, the same way Lennox cared about getting his men—the rookies in particular—out of every situation their NEST duties threw at them. And yet, it was different for Optimus. Lennox didn't have to be one of them to realize that the Autobots were severely outnumbered. Compared to the Decepticons, achingly few of his soldiers scattered around the galaxy had responded to his invitation to Earth. Either most of them were dead and gone, or they were too far away.

There were others on the way. Out of the four Autobots who were en route to Earth, only Wheeljack could be considered a mature adult by Transformer standards. The other three were young, like Bumblebee, maybe even as young as Mudflap and Skids. It was quickly becoming apparent that most of their new arrivals were going to be untrained, inexperienced Autobots with extremely limited knowledge of military protocol. They were going to keep coming, and Optimus needed help getting them in line.

Which, Lennox imagined, was a hard thing to do when his youngest soldiers kept getting killed or kidnapped.

Finally, one of the technicians from their communications lab came to interrupt his thoughts and informed him that he had a message from the Babysitter. The major launched himself out of the chair and followed his informant to the corner of the bustling room, where his small collective of trusted subordinates were gathered. There was a video on the screen. "Go," Lennox ordered.

He felt like one of those parents on a criminal investigation T.V. show watching their kid's ransom tape for the first time. The only difference was, other than the obvious facts, he hadn't exactly been doubting Rachoor's boast that he still had the Twins in his custody. What he _didn't_ expect, was to see not two Autobots in front of the camera, but one. Mudflap.

"_Oh, splendid. I was half expecting someone else, but I'm truly relieved that I could speak with you again, major," _came the Babysitter's voice from behind whatever recording device he was using—a cheap web cam, by the look of it. "_As you can see, we are recording this live. You'll have to excuse the terrible connection, but your government is making it rather difficult to operate securely in this section of the country."_

"I'm trying really hard to be impressed," Lennox replied, stepping closing to the microphone that one of the technicians was holding. "Last I checked, we're missing two Autobots, and I see one. What happened, Rachoor? And don't say Skids outsmarted you, because I don't think anyone here is going to buy that, me included."

"_A good observation. We had a hiccup with resources." _The camera wobbled, while in the background the red Autobot continued to tug at the chains wrapped around his arms. Spotting the bearer of the recording device, Mudflap tilted his head back and deftly flipped him the bird. "_In the meantime, I have managed to convince this one to refrain from any more escape attempts. Even if its counterpart were with us, I highly doubt they would be able to overwhelm our perimeter."_

Lennox knew he had only enough time to ask one question or even two, if he was lucky. "And where is his counterpart, exactly?"

"_You are talking about the green one? My guess is as good as yours, though it is most likely that the 16-RDs have dealt with it. There were quite a few of them in the area when we departed. I'm sorry, major, but it seems our time is nearly up. I do hope you are satisfied with this evidence. This will be the last time we speak before my employer's deadline."_

"One last thing. You know we can't track your over the feed, so don't tell me you don't have time," Lennox snapped, uncrossing his arms. "We know who you work for, and once this is finished, you won't be able to leave this country and return home. So I'm asking you, Manaar, what exactly _you_ think you're getting out of this deal? Money? I somehow doubt you care about whether or not the world becomes wise to the fact that we have aliens among us. You're not that kind of man."

"_I like you, Major Lennox. And for that purpose only I have decided to answer that question with the grace it deserves. Did you think that this is a random act of chance? My men have better equipment than some of your American spies. I was allowed me to choose our target, and I did not select these particular aliens out of convenience. It would only take the capture of one, and not two, to satisfy the terms of my contract with my employer. But, I digress. I will let you find out in your own ways, now that you know of my personal feelings. Goodbye, William. And please, give your baby girl a kiss from Uncle Manaar."_

It was shortly after the screen blinked and was replaced by an image of pure static that the NEST commander realized the weight of the threat. Sergeant Lenny, who had been in charge of the contact, stood and looked utterly bewildered. "Son of a bitch," the major swore, jerking them all out of their trances. "Lenny--"

"I'm already on it, sir," his chief communications officer interjected, bolting to the other side of the room. It went without saying that certain security had to be sent to Lennoxs house to secure his family. It went without saying that right now, Lennox couldn't focus because his mind was still reeling from the Babysitter's words.

"It's a ploy. It has to be," said the technician whose name he was struggling to remember. "He's distracting you with empty threats and shadow puppets. He's nothing but a terrorist, sir—don't let him get to you."

It was his wife and _daughter. _But Lennox couldn't respond with that, not when he was in charge. Yes, the odds were that Rachoor was bluffing in order to spread their attention and resources elsewhere, and that meant he was worried that he was going to be caught. When they smelled victory, men like Manaar Rachoor didn't take wild swings at another man's personal life and risk the wrath of a powerful and influential officer.

Not that his power and influence was doing him any good.

But now he knew things he could use. Just this once, he had to think past the tightness in his throat and just _think_. Lennox had made the situation with Rachoor personal, so it was just as likely that the mercenary was responding in kind. Had he struck a chord in the antagonistic little bastard? Maybe. Now he knew the Twins' abduction hadn't been random happenstance. They had been chosen by Rachoor for a deeper reason, explaining the impossible question as to why a well-off mercenary leader would become involved in a suicidal contract such as this. If Rachoor had a grudge against Skids and Mudflap, that meant two things were now certain.

One: they could dig into the Twins' short history on Earth and find the connection with Rachoor. Done quickly enough, and it might help them bring the mercs down.

The second certainty was more disturbing to him. He hoped to God this wasn't some kind of vendetta, because it murdered their chances of getting the two Autobots back safe and sound. Even if they did agree to the proposed terms—which they never would—Rachoor was not going to just hand over two Autobots he had a vendetta against.

"Specialist," he said to the technician standing in front of him, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "I want you to tell me _exactly_ what the Twins have done since they crash landed on Earth and I want it in thirty minutes. Every damned detail that might have something to do with anything. Cross reference police reports, news articles, _anything_ that might have to do with the name Manaar Rachoor. Sixteen hundred hours, go."

People were flurrying to get busy on all sides of the major. A lot of people. Lennox looked at his watch: Four fifty-two. Minus an hour, that gave them nine hours before the broadcast.

He was used to making history, being a part of it, and witnessing historic moments that made the signing of the Declaration of Independence seem like bathroom graffiti. Now he was trying to prevent an even bigger part of history from taking place.

People might see a couple of highly advanced robotic weapons being destroyed by a vigilante terrorist when they turned on their T.V. People might see a couple of aliens they could blame for the thousands of deaths caused by the Decepticons. Or they could see a whole lot of infomercials.

He could live with infomercials.

* * *

-

_ **October 10****th****, 2:15 am—6:47 pm PST**_

He chased the Decepticon for two hours. Skids got so far into the desert that he got lost. And then he spent another two hours trying to find another highway so he could go back to human civilization. The Perry guy had fallen asleep and woken up more than once, but he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Skids didn't blame the squishy cop; this desert was just too damn big. Too big for the Insecto-bombs to keep chasing him. He hadn't shot at one since the big ugly helicopter took his brother away.

Ratchet was gonna kill him when he got back to base. He'd been leaking Energon for a long time now, all because he hadn't taken care of his arm when the Insecto-bombs blew it off. He was barely running on anything but his own Spark's energy right now, and if he kept going without taking a recharge cycle to let his internal systems deal with the leak, he was going to run out of juice way out in the open. Insecto-bomb bait. Decepticon chew toy. Then nobody would rescue his little brother in time.

He finally found a really, really remote place near some rocks that would keep the moonlight off his shiny stuff. He didn't even bother telling Mr. Perry about his need to recharge, because he was kind of half hoping the stupid cop would be gone by the time he woke up.

But he wasn't. Mr. Perry the po-po was still snoring in his cab when Skids powered back up. He wasn't asleep for long, though, because the green Twin realized about a second later that he'd been in deep recharge for almost eleven hours. Some poor, random Transformer on Cybertron probably heard him cuss after that.

His Energon reserves were saved, now that he'd stopped leaking. But half a day was already done by, and Mudflap could be all the way in Mexico or at the bottom of some ocean. So his big brother had to do what he had to do. He needed to get help.

Kearny was a little town. It was almost cute. If Skids wasn't so worried about where his brother had gotten to, he might have started to like it here. But when his bro was gone and in danger, Earth didn't seem so fun anymore. Especially with Perry constantly whining at him about going home. It took half an hour to drive to the little human settlement, and as lonely as he was feeling right now, Skids was wishing he was even _more_ alone.

Truth be told, he was completely terrified. Nothing scared him worse than being cut off from his twin brother for good. It was all too weird, not having someone right there who would always watch his back, or answer him whenever he had something to say out loud. It was like somebody had cut a big hole where his bro usually was and he was gonna get sucked into it any minute.

He knew if he tried to send the others a message the usual way, Starscream or one of his bitches would likely intercept it and come straight for him. But he was good at remembering things the humans told him, like about those telephone thingies they put up on street corners for people too cheap to buy cell phones. And lucky for him, he had his very own human who could make a very important phone call for him. Because if he didn't, Skids figured he'd start showing his cop buddy just how unpleasant riding with a pissed off Autobot could be.

"_Remember, crunchcake_," he told the guy sitting in his front seat. "_Dis is real important. You gotta ask for a guy called Major Lennox, an' tell him it's his posse."_

"Listen...car, I just want to go home," Officer Perry said, shaking his head. "I'm a police officer, not a soldier, not an FBI agent. If you let me go right now, I won't tell anyone I saw anything. Deal?"

"_Deal?_" Skids snapped over his radio. "_Don'choo try tha' junk with me, Pillsbury; I ain't in the mood. If you care 'bout what's gonna happen to yo ass in the next ten seconds, you get out an' make my damn phone call!"_

"Okay. Okay!" The cop got out of the open door and on to the sidewalk, slamming the door behind him. "But you keep in mind that I'm doing this under duress!" Frowning indignantly, Perry stood in front of the payphone and dialed the cell phone number he'd been supplied with just minutes earlier.

Someone picked up in three rings. "_Whoever this is better explain why they're calling a classified military emergency line from a payphone."_

"Major Lennox?" Perry looked nervous and wiped his brow. "I'm calling for a Major Lennox, on behalf of a...my God, this is weird...a green, talking Chevrolet who says he's Major Lennox's 'posse'."

There was a pause on the other end of the line before the same voice spoke up. "_Sir, this is extremely important. Where are you located right now?"_

"Uh...my hometown, called Kearny. It's in Arizona, just north of Phoenix...listen, I'm a police officer. I've seen a lot of strange things in the past few hours, and I don't even want to be here. I don't want any part of this."

"_Understandable, officer," _said the man, presumably Major Lennox. "_Believe me, I don't want you any more involved in this than you do. I just need you to put the phone as close to the speakers of the car you mentioned, so I can talk to him."_

Officer Perry lowered the receiver and glanced around. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, but did as he was persuaded. With obvious reluctance, he edged around the telephone stand and stretched the cord as far as it would go, leaning on the car roof as he pointed the receiver into the interior.

"_Skids, you and Mudflap owe me and Optimus a hell of a story," _he heard the voice say. "_These are your orders. You're to stay put, stay out of sight, and wait for Ironhide to come and get you."_

"_I gots a problem with that, though,_" Skids replied indignantly. "_Y'see, my bro's been up and snatched again by some big-ass Decepticon. I need'cho help gettin' him back, yo?"_

Perry looked up to see a middle-aged woman pushing a stroller cross the street, and she was staring at him cautiously. Staring at the police officer standing with one arm and a payphone receiver stuck inside an empty vehicle like it was just business. He forced an awkward smile and waved at her, to which she quickly retreated down the sidewalk and didn't look back.

"_That's why I put Ironhide and Sergeant Epps out there,"_ Lennox said on his end of the conversation. "_We'll get your brother back, Skids, but you're gonna need to follow those orders. What_ever _you do, do _not_ try to go after him yourself. He can't exactly come to the phone right now, but I'm sure that Optimus would tell you the same."_

_ "So what'choo really mean is, wait for a _real_ Autobot to come take care o' the law, righ'?" _Skids sounded bitter more than anything. "_Because you think I'm jus' too stupid without Ironhide an' your war buddy around to take care of me. Well, I got dis far on mah own, an' that's a straight up fact."_

_ "You have to listen to me, Skids, if you want to get your--"_

There was an abrupt click, and the phone went silent. Looking confused, Officer Perry pulled the receiver back to his ear, and a few seconds later, hung it up. He put it back to his ear briefly before leaving it for good. "It went dead," he explained, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to. "Doesn't work."

_"Whatever, man,_" the Autobot twin said, clearly deciding that sulking was the appropriate response. "_Just get in so I can drive you back to your crib. You did me one, now I gotta do you one."_

"Jesus, finally," the man sighed, and sat down in the passenger seat. "I think I'm going to retire tomorrow."

Skids stayed silent while he re-entered traffic. He was still quiet when Officer Perry gave him directions down main street and past the lines of shops, and he was still brooding when he turned into a very small street between two buildings. He drove to the end of the alleyway and stopped in front of a dead end, a brick wall that blocked off the exit.

"_You sure you ain't some sorta dirty cop?_" he asked his passenger, confused. "_'Cause this is kinda shady for a policeman, not one who's s'posed to shoot the bad guys."_

"It's suitable," said the cop. He got out of the car. At first, he seemed to approach the back door to the apartment, but stepped around in front of the Autobot at the last minute. "It's probably the only place in this backwater stink hole that isn't crawling with witnesses."

_Witnesses to what?_ Skids was about to ask, but by the time he realized he'd been talking to a dead man from the moment he let the screaming baby man into his cab, it was too late.

* * *

-

TBC


	12. Darkness

_**Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow**_

_**---  
**_

AN: This chapter is a bit more military-political than most. I reckon it'll take another 5-6 chapters to flush out the rest of the story. While not as action-packed as Chapter 13, I'd strongly recommend reading this one in its entirety so you don't get confused further along. Lots of revealing stuff.

Enjoy the change of pace. And no, I don't know how to not write cliffhangers.

* * *

_Chapter Twelve: Darkness  
_

* * *

**October 11****th****, 7:45 am PST**

**-  
**

Dim lights, gray walls, no windows. A room like this might look good on T.V. or in a movie, but Lennox wasn't in one or the other. Aftermath was not a film studio. Real battles waged real consequences. Hallelujah.

The blue painted door opened fifteen minutes after he was instructed to sit down, and his interrogator appeared; Brigadier General Cross himself, the man in charge of Galloway's search results and the current overseer of all human-Autobot communication. Major Lennox immediately got up from his chair, stood and waited for his superior officer to sit down.

Cross looked up at him, and nodded. They each sat on one side of the rectangular table, while the general silently slid several documents his way. "This is a requisition form for the voluntary withdrawal from classified materials relating to extraterrestrials," he explained in his deep tenor, pulling his arm back and folding his hands in front of him. After a few seconds, he went on to say, "I'm giving this to you, Major, because by the time this investigation is over, I am hoping you'll make the right decision. The events of this morning went way out of control. I want to know why. You can start by telling me who your outside resources were and how long you were undermining the President's direct orders."

"With all due respect, general, I can't reveal my civilian contacts without violating a lot of American laws put into place to prevent civilians from getting involved in certain classified information," Lennox explained, rubbing his eyes. Three days without sleep. "And it was never my intention to undermine the President."

"You say that as though your contacts weren't already involved to begin with," Cross said. "Were they?"

"To answer your first question, sir, I started talking to a man we codenamed 'Babysitter'. He made contact with us three times. At that time, sir, we didn't know his name or his connection with the Autobots."

"No, but that didn't stop you from goading him into threatening your family, an incident that obviously affected your judgment from that point on." Cross rolled a pen towards him. Lennox let it bounced off of his knuckles. "Just to be prepared. Let's jump ahead a moment to right after you made contact with the Autobot Skids."

"He made contact with us, sir."

"Major, are you correcting me out of spite or because you're trying to protect the Autobots? The entire military congregation, your N.E.S.T. team in particular is in a state of crisis. The President has been humiliated in front of foreign authority figures in twenty-three different countries. We lost eighteen fine young soldiers out there do to _your_ indiscretion."

"Nineteen, sir."

A cloud of silence hung over their heads for a few moments, before the general withdrew his hands to stare the N.E.S.T. leader down. A great many men had fallen to this kind of hostile interrogation in the history of court martial laws, solely because they were good men, and good men ended up killing themselves over the guilt they felt for letting down their commanding officers. Their country.

"Including our Autobot casualty," Lennox continued to say, feeling his throat dry up. "Sir, we lost nineteen. You weren't there. It's hard enough seeing the coffins come off that plane every time we run an op against the Decepticons. So that's why I'm going to humbly," he said, slowing down his words in the hopes that he'd get his point across, "—request that you give him the same respect deserved by the eighteen human soldiers killed in action today."

Brigadier General Cross reached across and took the pen, clicked the end of it on the table, and wrote something down on one of the forms in front of him. "You've got some balls, Major Lennox. But luckily for you, I do happen to respect your enlightened perspective on all things N.E.S.T. related. In turn, I will respect whatever and whomever I choose, when I choose to do so. If I were you, next time I make a request like that, I'd take a good, long look at the shiny metal star on the collar of the man I'm talking to. Is that understood, major?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Returning to the issue at hand...what happened after the Autobot codename Skids made contact with your clandestine operation?"

"As you know, sir, I had Sergeant Epps and Ironhide already close to his location. They went investigating the Decepticon transmission we detected from base camp. Their main priority was to get Skids out before the Decepticons got to him."

"We both know how well that worked out, don't we?"

Lennox swallowed in order to keep his composure. "Yes, sir. We know now."

* * *

**October 10****th****, 8:18 am PST**

**-  
**

Perry waited, biding his time. When he was certain the Autobot was not going to break his recharge cycle, he used his fleshy human fingers to punch in his task master's phone number into his cell phone. One ring later, a man by the name of Phil Orleans picked up.

"_Status,"_ he said.

"Delayed," the police officer responded huskily. "Not to question your logic, taskmaster, but releasing the explosive mines at the holding facility proved to be more trouble than we anticipated. These organic bodies are too easily damaged."

"_Spare me your whining, Controller," _said the voice on the other end. "_Why have you not engaged your mission priority? You aren't beginning to enjoy being a sac of flesh, are you?"_

"That's disgusting. Of course not. Tactically, it would be unwise to engage the Autobot now. After he has made contact with his superiors, I will make the switch. They will not know the difference until it is too late. Taskmaster, the second Autobot was taken into custody by the rogue."

"_Megatron knows how to deal with him, mind leech,"_ Phil reprimanded him darkly. "_Stay focused on your own mission. Remember, you were given this opportunity as a gift from our master. Prime's downfall depends on you."_

"I know. I will not fail Megatron," the Controller promised through his human's lips, and foregoing any of the annoying organic pleasantries, snapped the cell phone shut. He had to wait until the Autobot came out of recharge. If he played the rest of this charade flawlessly, then he would make his mark in the glorious history of Decepticon legends. His role would be idolized by thousands of lesser drones for generations to come.

Officer Perry closed his eyes and allowed the human to slip into a light unconcious state. The bewildered mind retaliated for a moment, before obediently shutting down.

* * *

**October 10****th****, 7:25 pm PST**

**-  
**

"_I really cannot understand why so many humans insist on building small, isolated settlements when more advanced lodgings are the practical choice." _Ironhide made the statement through his speakers, one of several he had expressed to his passenger since they received their intel from temp base. Apparently, there were a lot of things about human society the Autobot skipped when he took the Earth crash course.

"Not all of us are made for the city," Sergeant Epps replied somewhat monotonously as he kept a loose grip on the steering wheel. "It all depends on where you're born. Country folk find it hard to live with the city folk, and vice versa. Me, I was born in a town a lot like this. Kinda feels like coming home."

Ironhide made an unimpressed grunt. The highway rolled right into Kearny's main street, and pretty soon the buildings on either side of them were clumping together to form some sort of rural downtown setup. They passed three different payphones, ignoring the strange looks that people were casting in their direction. After all, a big, black shiny pick-up truck like Ironhide wasn't the kind of vehicle the local farmers drove back and forth into town.

"So what's goin' on? You got some sort of trace on where he went?" Epps asked his counterpart.

"_I am unable to detect an Autobot energy signature in the immediate area," _the Autobot responded a little sourly. "_Hardly surprised the incompetent little punk can't even obey a simple order to stay still."_

"Let's just try and find him before the bad guys do. A bright green car like that is bound to turn the heads of some of the locals, right?"

The rhetorical question went unanswered, but Ironhide pulled away from the curb beside the payphone and merged with the nearly non-existant traffic on the street. It was starting to get pretty dark out, and there weren't a lot of people outdoors. Epps guessed they might have about ten minutes to find someone to ask for directions.

It was harder than he thought. Every time he spotted a local, they quickly got out of sight. One man in a plaid jacket actually grabbed his hat to shield his own face and ducked into a grocery. "I've got a hunch that says there's something weird going on in this town," he told Ironhide. "Something really weird."

They eventually stopped at an unlit intersection, in front of a group of stores and a gas station. Epps stepped out onto the sidewalk, keeping his body language as casual as he dared. He reached into the Ironhide's storage bed, and took out the toolbox he had stashed out on the highway. Every good solider under cover needed a prop to blend in. He just hoped his tattered jeans and hastily acquired denim vest matched his pretend job description as a freelancing handyman from Phoenix.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said out loud, addressing an older woman who struggled to lift her right leg onto the sidewalk. Her eyes darted toward Epps distrustfully as he got closer.

"Don't bother me now," she huffed, turning her back on him. "I don't know anything and I don't want to get involved in Wolf business."

"Wolf business?" Sergeant Epps slowed down and kept his distance, getting a prickling feeling that Ironhide was judging the encounter from afar. "I'm not sure what you mean. I'm just looking for a friend of mine. He drives a really bright green car with black markings on the side—custom paint job, really unique-looking--"

"I told you, I don't want to get involved! The Wolf Children might be watching me," the old woman croaked. Then she hesitated, and stopped moving long enough to lean in and sniff him. "You're not a Wolf Child. Your ride is nice, but you smell like a dishwasher. City folk shouldn't be poking around these days. Someone's gone and upset that biker gang really bad, and they're trying to find out who stole their farm. People these days. Crazy!"

"Biker gang? There's a gang that runs these parts? What about the local police?" Epps was starting to feel like he'd struck gold. Although a tad imbalanced, the poor homeless woman turned out to be the town gossip.

She sniffed at him again. "Oh, they're around somewhere, probably staying out of the way of the Wolves. That's right, I saw one of them earlier today, driving that car you were talking about. Are you with the police? If so, please do something about the Wolves. They took my Brutus away from me."

"You said something about a farm?" Maybe, just maybe Epps' hunch would be true. It was a long shot.

"Everyone knows that farm belongs to Geoffrey McCoy, and he's a Wolf now. Whoever's squatting in their farm won't last very long, you just wait and see."

"Thank you," said the enlisted sergeant, tipping his ball cap towards her. Just as he started to turn and leave, she tugged on his sleeve and he found her staring into his face earnestly.

"You won't find your friend that way," she insisted and pointed towards two buildings. "He went in there for some reason. I don't know why—it's been blocked off for years and years. That's the last time I saw that car, though. Nice ride."

Epps glanced over at the alleyway and patted the old woman's arm appreciatively. "Thanks again. That helps me a lot, Mrs..."

"Clissold. Barbara Clissold. Take care, now," she said, and went on her way.

The sergeant turns on his heel and made a beeline back to Ironhide's cab. His left cheek hadn't even touched the seat when the Autobot's engine roared to life. "_I hope you learned something from her interrogation,"_ Ironhide remarked. "_Other than the local domestic disputes of this community."_

"Hey, I got a lead on where one of our missing Autobots might be. And I've been doing all the work since we got out here, Mr. I'm-a-nice-ride-so-I-get-to-sit-on-my-lass-ass. Trust me, I've got a grandma her age. What she said is bound to be true, 'cause that's old lady gossip right there. It's not the cheap kind." They were the only ones on the street by now, save for a few parked cars and some wary-looking bystanders. If this wasn't a ghost town, Epps figured it was a seriously troubled one. He knew he had to report that intel about the farm to Lennox, but he'd checked his bars already. None. And he had a real classy kind of cell phone, which meant either he was being jammed or this was the monster of all dead zones.

The duo broke away from the red light that blocked their way to the alleyway before turning in. Ironhide had to roll slowly to avoid scraping his mirrors on the brick walls, as narrow as the entry was. In the failing bask of the sun and shadows, his headlights flooded the poorly lit alley and its rows of garbage cans. He stopped roughly twenty feet from the barricade that blocked off the other street.

It was obvious that Skids wasn't here, and there were no signs that he ever had been. Epps clicked the door open and stepped down lightly. He reached under the seat to grab a flashlight (something else he'd stashed despite Ironhide's complaints) and flashed the beam over the pavement to search for some kind of clue.

It didn't take long for his light to land on the body practically tucked behind a row of garbage cans. The sergeant nudged one of the empty tins away with his foot to get a better look. His face contorted in disgust when he got a better look at the cadaver.

"Oh, man. That's just nasty. I'm never gonna be able to watch _Alien_ again without parental supervision," he muttered, shaking his head and taking a step forward. He'd seen bodies before, some in far worse shape than this. There was just one thing different about this body, though. "He's a police officer...or he used to be. I'm betting he's the guy Major Lennox talked to on the phone, but _damn._ It's like something ripped him open from the inside out. There's not a whole lot of blood, though. This is just freaky."

It occurred to him that Ironhide had been silent for the past three minutes, and the lack of his commentary on the situation was disturbing Epps. The Autobot tended to be less polite in situations off base, so he should have made some sort of observation by now. Epps turned and slapped the hood of the large truck. "Hey, sleeping beauty. What's going on? You got an idea of what happened to this guy?"

"_Optimus needs to know about this," _came the response, somewhat delayed and way more nervous than Epps liked to hear from his normally fearless counterpart. His lights began to grow brighter, making even the darkest nooks and crannies of the alleyway glow. The reflection off of the police offier's dead gaze unconsciously pushed Epps back a few steps. "_The Decepticons know we are here. Fall back, now!"_

A small metal blur dropped from the sky and landed in the Autobot's flat bed. Epps realized what that blinking light meant. He didn't know how he did it. Somehow he broke the laws of physics moving so damned fast, but he remembered launching himself into the flat bed and drawing his side arm from under his vest.

He couldn't let it latch on. He couldn't let it latch _on _or they were both dead_. _It was already digging its little claws into the metal. Epps opened fire on 16-RD.

His last thought before the explosion was utterly profane, and then came the darkness.

* * *

-

TBC


	13. Jagged

**_Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow_**

AN: This chapter lacks the action I promised, but it pushes things along. I'm trying to finish this story now before I get too busy again.

Also, if you're confused, just pay close attention to the date and times above each story segment. It'll come together—it's one of those stories you can go back and re-read and go 'ohhhh, now I get why that happened at that time'...

* * *

_Chapter Thirteen: Jagged_

* * *

**October 10****th**** 8:41 pm PST**

"Major!"

Lennox startled from his stupor, having almost managed to fall asleep. Someone stuck a phone in his face, which he took without even glancing up. He put it to his ear, and before he could say a word to his unknown contact, a familiar, heavy voice spoke into his ear.

"_We got him,"_ said Brigadier General Cross, which reached the major's attention and yanked him into the real world. "_Manaar Rachoor and his men are in our custody, major. You can stop trying to micro-manage this thing with your robot friends."_

Rubbing his eyes, Lennox stood up and checked his watch. "General, it's a pleasure to hear from you, as always," he said. He'd been sitting down for less than five minutes. "I assume that means you have Mudflap as well, sir?"

"_No, nor have I heard anything from that AWOL sergeant of yours and his Autobot partner. Unless you can't tell from the tone of my voice, I am _not_ happy with your insubordinance to my team—the President's team specifically picked to handle this shit bomb of yours, might I add."_

"I appreciate you tell me know this, General. I'm sure Director Galloway is proud of your teams' efforts and I look forward to discussing everything in detail at the debriefing tomorrow morning."

Lennox flipped the phone shut a second later and handed it back to the bewildered enlisted private who had been standing nearby. "Interference," he explained hoarselhy and pointed at the equally-as-nearby corner of the communications office where his men were on constant surveillance for information. "Sergeant Lenny, what's the-"

"Yes, sir, I've got video footage of Rachoor's capture, with distracted audio. Contact just sent it in," Lenny interrupted, leaning over his monitor. He typed something into the keyboard and turned the display so that the NEST commander could see.

The video feed was staticky, a bit too blurry to make out perfect details of faces or badges, but the audio was what dropped an ice cube of realization down Lennox's shirt. A group of five men were being hustled down a narrow, gray corridor by some tough-looking marines. A few seconds later, the leader of the detail snapped, "Bring Rachoor in!" And so they did.

But the man they half-dragged into the holding room behind his teammates, the 'Manaar Rachoor' was screaming at the top of his lungs in Arabic. The wild-eyed, messy-hair man of short stature tried to wrestle free of his captors. He threw himself on the table in the middle of the room, and a free-for-all struggle ensued with the bodies of marines and mercenaries scrambling all over the place.

"That's not Manaar Rachoor." Lennox pointed to the leader of the mercs on the screen. "For one, Rachoor speaks perfect English. His voice isn't anywhere near that high pitched. He's older, in his late forties or early fifties. Sergeant, you're positive this is the right survelliance room?"

"Absolutely positive, sir. They've already identified him as Rachoor; they've even confirmed it with the N.S.A. Definitely the same person on their watchlist."

With the prickling feeling in his head spreading to his body, the major shook his head. "Fine, so if that's Manaar Rachoor, then who the hell has been taking credit for kidnapping the Autobot twins?"

"Major, I found something," one of the female communications' officers spoke up from her station. Lennox moved his legs sluggishly to see what she had to show and tell. "We couldn't determine exactly what Rachoor's involvement was with the Autobots. I retraced the Twins' involvement in any Earth-related activity back to the point where they landed in Toronto, Canada." She tapped a few buttons, and brought up a news article from the Toronto Sun. It's headline read '_Meteor Strikes CN Tower'_, and the subheading read '_Five Killed In Apparent Space-related Incident'._

The fabled first screw-up of the Twins on planet Earth. Even before they crash-landed, the pair had whipped up an accident of historical proportions by knocking off the top of the CN Tower while inbound. At the time, he'd been too busy to learn the details of the aftermath, but there they were. Right in front of him. "You'll have to be more specific," he said, absently scratching at the light stubble on his chin. "Maybe it's just the sleep deprivation talking, but I've a hard time believing the Canadians are out to overthrow our government."

Another section of the article popped up, and the officer had it highlighted. "We also did research on the victims of the incident. One of the bystanders was a tour guide named Haya Sarkis. Her father was a physics professor at the local university, Bakr Sarkis. He's listed as a retired Corporal in the Canadian army, but he shares citizenry between the U.S. and Canada, and his military records are sealed _a bit_ too tightly to be inconspicuous. We think he might be C.I.A., or former C.I.A.."

Lenny shook his head and sighed, "He disappeared a week before the abduction. If he had any ties with the C.I.A., that would explain his involvement with Manaar Rachoor and UnityTech. Ghosts like him have contacts in places God doesn't even know about."

The NEST commander's expression became dark, furled and then smooth in reflection. "Are you telling me there's a distinct possibility that we've been outsmarted by one man who used to work for _our_ government?"

"Yes, sir."

"And he's the one holding Mudflap hostage?"

"It would seem so, sir."

"He has one or more Decepticon allies?"

"It seems that way, sir."

"So we've got another Decepticon problem on top of Manaar Rachoor and his employer, UnityTech, _and_ this Saskir fellow who, if I didn't mention how incredibly ridiculous this all is before, is a _single_ man, from _Canada_ who literally stands between the safe retrieval of the Twins and a complete breakdown in trust between Autobots and humanity for all time."

His chief of communications paused visually, and then said, "I can't actually...answer that with a reliable degree of certainty, sir."

"Major Lennox!"

It was beginning to appeal to him, constantly having one man or woman, or another, suddenly shout his name and appear out of nowhere to update him on the busiest day of his entire career—minus any Egyptian and Mission City related incidents. Back then, however, there had been more people in charge of the various operations taking place across the globe. By the time he turned around to face the airman who had spoken, his amusement had faded. The airman looked nervous.

"Just lay it on me," said the NEST commander. Like a Band-Aid.

* * *

**October 10****th****, 8:45 pm PST**

Hallelujah.

He was alive.

It was his first thought, funnily enough, when he came to and the pain started. Something in his body hurt, and it sure as hell wasn't his pride. Even Epps knew that feeling pain was a good thing in situations that involved definite obliteration—say, the kind that usually happened when you shot high grade explosives at close range.

When he focused his eyes, he became aware that he was on his back, on the ground, on the street. There was no blood on his hands, and they weren't burnt at all. Strange thing, it was his back and ass that hurt the most. And his head. Epps tried to sit up, but it felt like someone was pushing him down. "Agh..."

"Don't try to move, son," a cantankerous voice came from somewhere behind him. Then he saw what he _knew_ had to be a paramedic walk past his feet. "You've been in quite the accident, city boy. Don't try to move; you've got a bad concussion and probably half a dozen rib fractures."

There wasn't no way in _hell_ he was staying down on the ground like this when he was on assignment. "My truck," he managed to wheeze between sharp pains in his chest. "Seriously, man...what happened to my truck? There was a bomb..."

"A bomb? No bomb, kiddo; just you and a few dead rats. There's no truck, either. Can you tell me what day it is?"

"The hell—" Epps tried to finish the question but ground to a halt in order to catch his breath. Broken ribs hurt like hell. He'd never miss this feeling. Not one damn time in his life. If the alleyway was empty, that meant Ironhide had taken off somewhere after the explosion. But Ironhide, gone? He sure as hell hoped that meant he'd gotten away before the emergency responders arrived. There were a couple of questions he'd like answered.

Judging by the expression on the paramedic's face, he wasn't going to go anywhere anytime soon. Better let the truth slip, and deal whatever the consequences were later. Finding Ironhide and getting a hold of Major Lennox were his two top priorities. Groaning, Epps wiggled his arm across the ground and reached for his wallet.

"Son, if you don't stop moving, I'll sedate you," the sallow-cheeked paramedic warned him from above, but the sergeant made a grab for his pocket anyway.

"I'm with the United States Marine Corps," he grunted, tugging his wallet free. "Sergeant Epps of the...uh...well, that's classified. I'm here on assignment...so gimme a shot of whatever you've got handy or just let me go." Despite his body raging a series of shooting pangs in retribution, he somehow turned himself over and staggered to his feet. At first, his vision doubled and spun, but it leveled out enough for him to recognize the black vehicle apart from the gathering of flashing lights and onlookers.

Ironhide sat isolated, parked against the curb not thirty feet away. As if he hadn't moved from that spot in days. Unscratched.

Groggily, Epps lifted his finger to point at the Autobot and he took a few uneven steps. "You an' I have some business, Knight Rider."

In response, Ironhide's passenger side door swung open and wobbled, radiating a silent type of impatience that only the black Autobot could muster in the guise of a stoic pick-up truck. Epps started forward again, wincing with every step as he crossed the dead street and climbed into the cab of the waiting robot.

"Sergeant Epps, you need to get to a hospital! The police will want to speak to you!" shouted another voice, probably another paramedic trying to keep him from saving the world with painkillers and big words. "Call dispatch. Someone needs to arrest that man so we can—"

The sergeant shut Ironhide's door and almost collapsed on the seat. All this moving around was making his ribs hurt like A1 sauce on an open wound. Once he slid his legs inside, the driver's door clicked shut and the Autobot's voice came through the speakers. "_We have a new directive."_

"Yeah, they hurt a little bit, these inconvenient things we call bones that're attached to my ribcage, but you don't have to ask. I'm alright. I know you care 'bout me, Rocky," Epps grunted between his teeth. Through the Autobot's tinted window, his eye caught one of the paramedics crossing the road after him. "How about you drive _and _talk, starting with what happened right before my head grew this lump."

"_I used a reversed usymiatic pulse to render the mobile explosive inactive before it could detonate. I...miscalculated the effect it would have on the physical limitations of your body."_

"So you're the one who juggled me about twenty feet to six o'clock. Hooh-ra," the marine muttered, and scrunched his brow as the pick-up drove away from the curb. "Wait just a second; how'd you know that usymatric thing was gonna work on the robo-insect?"

"_I didn't."_

An awkward silence filled the cab. "You suck, man," said Epps.

"_You should be more grateful that I saved your life. Forget the explosive; it is the remains of that human that disturb me. His wound and the circumstances around it make me believe there is a Decepticon Controller involved. Skids has almost certainly been compromised by our enemies.."_

Epps was trying to fish around inside the Autobot's 'glove compartment' for the 'first aid' kit he'd stashed there. There were painkillers in there, somewhere—the kind they gave people on NEST assignments. Someone was always bound to need a good old fashioned syringe filled with something stronger than acetylsalicylic acid. "Alright," he said through gritted teeth. "So how do we get rid of this thing and where d'you think it took him?" He managed to close a hand aroud the plastic case of meds and sat back in his seat again. "Hey, if you don't know, tha's okay. I'm sure they've got some kinda lead back at base—"

"_I have already contacted Bumblebee with the information, and Optimus knows about the situation. I will deal with the Controller if it becomes a problem. We're headed to the nearest city, which is strategically the next location the Decepticons would wish to lure us, if only for the possibility of extensive collateral damage."_

"Well, ain't that vindictive of them," said the marine, relaxing an inch as the painkillers began to take effect.

He didn't ask what had happened the police officer's body. Of all the questions in his head, that was probably the only one Epps didn't want to know the answer to.

* * *

**October 10th, 8:43 pm PST**

"You're fired! Fired! I'm not finished with you yet, Phil—you're not just fired—you'll never find a job in this city, or any city in this country until the next ice age! You hear me? Your ass is so blacklisted, it'll make Lindsey Lohan look like a graduate fresh out of Yale!"

Cheilwender's rant was becoming more than his secretary could bear. She had no sympathy whatsoever for the assistant he was tearing down right now, nor did she care if the company was flushed down the toilet. All she wanted was her last month's paycheque and a big, fat incentive on her resume. Six years she had wasted doing the devil's work, and it sounded like that would be over very soon. Mr. Cheilwender only lost his temper when his business was starting to lose its shine. And firing Phil? UnityTech was just waiting for someone to kick the stool from under its gargantuan feet.

"_You_ allowed this to happen! _You_ lost the damn robots, and you allowed the contractors to fall into the government's hands! UnityVision will be going live in three hours, and what do I have to show them? A goddamned rerun of Happy Days? My lawyer received a call from the director of the FBI! The goddamned FBI, Phil! I'm sixty-five years old, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life in jail! Let's not even get to the fact that my granddaughter is still in the hands of two _aliens_ who would just as soon as kill her as ask for a ransom!"

The secretary rubbed her temples with her fingers and took a sip of her rapidly cooling coffee. Cheilwender was doing something vastly illegal—what a surprise. When they cuffed him, she wondered if the officers would let her pour a pot of hot water down his pants for all those years she had to run to get his damn espresso from the cafe down the street. Obviously, he was losing his mind. Finally. Robots and aliens? Maybe he'd had a stroke and no one had noticed.

As she tapped away on her keyboard, the minutes ticked by. Then she realized that it had grown eerily quiet on the other side of the door. Shrugging it off, she started to type again, but was rudely interrupted by a loud _thud_ from the wall inside the office. Sighing, she pressed the button on her phone. "Mr. Cheilwender, I heard a noise. Is everything all right in there?"

No response came. The noise had stopped, too. _You've got to be kidding me_, she thought as she uncrossed her legs and stood up, pushing back her chair. If she opened to the door only to find out that the old rat had died of a heart attack—well, actually, that would be great. She could stay home tomorrow and make that French stew she'd been thinking of since last month.

It was still silent inside the office when she turned the handle and opened the door a crack. She saw Cheilwender's chair shoved back from his rich mahogany desk, but no one was in it. She pushed the door open a little more.

Two things happened. Her eyes landed on an arm sprawled on the floor; the body it was attached to was hidden by the desk. And she saw Phil, the young, too-handsome-to-be-true business assistant standing with his back facing her. He turned his head, and the secretary witnessed his arm move in a bizarre pattern, while parts of his face and hair seemed to crawl with hundreds of silvery insects. Phil was suddenly gone, and in his place swaggered a monster. It didn't even look human—it was covered with metal and had horrible eyes. Red, evil eyes.

She stumbled backwards and ran for her life. No one needed to tell her that what she'd seen was insane. But she knew whatever it was, it had just killed Mr. Cheilwender. The wall behind her head exploded, and she tripped over her high heels as the force threw her down. Ripping her shoes off her feet, the secretary didn't find the air to even scream as bits of plaster, glass and wood rained down from above, and she thrust herself forward in a last ditch attempt to escape.

Her hand felt the bump on the wall, the familiar red box of the fire alarm. Three seconds after the bell went off, she saw in the corner of her eye a tall, snake-like body flash like quicksilver from Hell, and something long and jagged—

* * *

TBC


End file.
